Windfall
by Court81981
Summary: Katniss Everdeen has never been lucky. But a chance encounter with an old acquaintance and a winning lottery ticket just may change that. Everlark. Banner by RoNordmann (h t t p:/tinyurl . com / Windfall - banner) (remove spaces); Cover art by Kismet4891
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note:** _So welcome to my first attempt at a modern AU. Unlike A Favorable Wind, this story is a WIP, and it will be posted as such. This story was inspired (yes, inspired...not based on like AFW and the Avi novel) by the old Nicolas Cage movie It Could Happen to You. But other than the lottery ticket and Peeta's mean wife (rest assured, this is Everlark all the way), that's where the inspiration ends.

THG belongs to Suzanne Collins.

Many thanks to my sounding boards and therapists, jeeno2 and ILoveRynMar. Thank you for listening to the outline for this story and reassuring me that it doesn't completely suck.

Please do let me know your thoughts and comments...this time, reviews will certainly fuel my creative energy.

* * *

_(Katniss)_

It's a funny thing about luck. Most people who believe in it don't have it; it's the nonbelievers, the skeptics, who seem to stumble into it without trying.

Katniss Everdeen will be one of the latter.

Tuesday the fourteenth of April starts off like any other day for Katniss.

Another bad day, to be precise. It seems that lately, the bad days outnumber the good ones.

She skids to a stop just outside the employee restroom at the back of the diner and hastily ties her apron in a knot. She grabs her order pad and a pencil, tucking it behind her left ear. She checks her shoelaces and takes a breath and slips out the swinging doors.

"Cutting it close, Everdeen," the diner's owner mutters without looking up from his newspaper.

"Sorry, Cray. My hot water heater's pilot light went out again."

"You'd think showering in cold water'd make your skinny ass move faster," Johanna calls from behind the counter where she is refilling a carafe of orange juice.

"Shut up, Jo," Katniss snarls. She glances at the floor plan posted at the host's podium and heaves a sigh when she sees her station for the morning. _Shit, shit, shit_.

The front left corner of the diner is what Johanna gleefully refers to as "Kiddie Hell." Consisting of only two booths and mostly free-standing tables for four or six, it is the logical place for families with small children in need of high chairs. She's hardly in the mood for screaming toddlers and frazzled mothers this morning. Katniss is not the biggest fan of children in general.

She forces a smile onto her lips as she approaches the elderly couple that has just been seated at Table Eight.

"Good morning, welcome to Cray's Time to Eat. I'm Katniss. Can I get you both some coffee?"

"I'll take a hot tea with lemon," the old woman says sharply. "And I said hot tea, mind you. Not that tepid lukewarm water you tried to serve me last week." Katniss is certain she did not have the pleasure of serving this cranky couple during any of their previous visits to the diner, but she presses her lips together tighter and nods.

"Make that two," the old man pipes in.

"I'll be right back with those," she replies, teeth clenched. She strides back to the counter and begins readying two saucers with cups and tea bags.

"It's gonna be one of those mornings," she mumbles to Johanna, who is grabbing an order from the window. Jo laughs.

"When is it not one of those mornings? We work in a fucking shithole, Brainless." She nods over her shoulder as she heads in the direction of her tables. "Watch out for that old bitch at Table Eight. She's mean and nasty and she'll send half her order back."

"Duly noted," Katniss says wryly.

After delivering the steaming tea cups and spending a full three minutes listening to the old couple changes their order no fewer than five times only to have both the cranky woman and her husband settle on oatmeal and rye toast, Katniss cringes as she watches Cray seat a woman and three shrieking boys at Table Seven.

"Awesome," she exhales, bracing herself for her eardrums to be shattered as she nears the table.

To her surprise the boys immediately settle down when she plies them with stubs of broken crayons (Cray only buys new crayons twice a year; the big box of 96 gets divided among thirty Dixie cups and that's it-even if the children are practically coloring with stubs or flakes of wax) and a peg board game that may or may not be missing more than the obligatory one peg. She fills the mother's coffee cup and takes an order for three chocolate-chip short stacks and one Western omelet.

"Fuck you getting well-behaved kids this morning," Johanna jokes as Katniss attaches her order to the wheel and spins it into Sae, the cook. "One of the kids at my last table practically projectile-vomited his oatmeal onto my shoes before knocking over an entire glass of apple juice."

"It's about the only thing that's gone right today," she replies, filling three Styrofoam cups with milk, swirling in thick ribbons of chocolate syrup and stirring well before snapping on the lids.

"Why don't you find a new apartment? That shithole isn't worth the rent you pay.

Katniss shrugs. "I'd rather spend the money on Prim's tuition and other stuff she needs, you know? What difference is it if I live in one crappy place or another?"

"Wouldn't kill you to put yourself first once in awhile." Katniss knows her friend is serious by the lack of bite in the brunette's usually sardonic tone.

"I ain't paying you two to chit chat. Get back to work," Cray snaps from his stool behind the host's stand.

"You ain't paying us for shit," Johanna hisses under her breath, stacking three plates of eggs up her left arm before winking at Katniss and heading for her table.

Johanna is about the only good thing to come from Katniss's job at the diner.

She had so many more aspirations for herself before her mother's death changed everything.

Katniss's father had died when she was just twelve and her younger sister, Prim, eight. An electrician by trade (and a master one at that), John Everdeen had been wiring a brownstone for an upgraded sound-system when he dropped dead at the tender age of thirty-six. His death had devastated his family, sending his widow into a deep spiral of depression and zapping all the joy from his beloved daughters' idyllic childhoods. An autopsy revealed a pulmonary embolism. He had been a ticking time bomb.

His life insurance had sustained Tressa Everdeen and the girls for the first few years. But as Katniss grew older, she began to realize something was not right with her mother, and it went beyond the prolonged despondency over her husband's death. Slowly, the glassy eyes, the sallow skin and the skeletal frame began to make perfect sense. As did the foreclosure notice that forced the girls to live with their mother's brother until Mrs. Everdeen completed treatment at a rehab facility.

It took four different stints at Shady Oaks before her mother swore she was finally clean. Katniss scrutinized her mother's forearms daily for a long time before she felt she could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

By then, Katniss was eighteen and had begun taking classes at the community college, trying to decide what she wanted to do with her life. She was surprised to discover she had an affinity for writing after being forced by her advisor to take a literature seminar with all the other undeclared freshmen. She was especially prolific at poetry, and she began to dream about fusing her dormant love of music (which she had pushed away after her father's death, being something she shared so intimately with him growing up) and her newly-minted skills at verse to write lyrics.

Katniss wanted to be a songwriter.

It was a bitterly cold December morning when her cell phone buzzed in the middle of her lit final. She said a silent prayer that she had remembered to quiet the device and ignored the persistent vibrations, continuing to furiously scribble her response to the essay question about Thomas Hardy and Charles Dickens and the plight of the lower class in Victorian England. She handed in the exam with a flourish, confidence flowing through her veins as she rummaged through her messenger bag for her cell phone.

_Eight missed calls_. The text message box glowed with an ominous, bold twenty-two.

Katniss swallowed hard, a nauseating feeling of trepidation mounting, and she tapped the screen.

Eighteen of the twenty-two texts were from Prim. Four were from her boyfriend, Gale Hawthorne.

Her mother was dead.

She_ hadn't_ been clean.

The official cause of death was a heroin overdose, but Katniss knew the affectionate and devoted mother she remembered from her childhood had died years ago. That woman had gone to the grave with John Everdeen.

The only silver lining (if any could be found) in her mother's death was its timing. Katniss had turned eighteen late that summer and was now, in the eyes of the Division of Youth and Family Services, a legal adult. She was able to petition the court on the grounds that her mother left no will and that Katniss was perfectly capable of caring for and providing for her fourteen-year-old sister. Her uncle vouched for her responsibility and assured the courts he would be a constant presence in the girls' lives. The court reluctantly agreed and awarded Katniss guardianship of "the minor Primrose Everdeen."

Katniss was happy that the ruling meant some sense of normalcy for Prim; she could stay in school with her friends provided Katniss could find an apartment in the right sending district. (She did, just several blocks from her uncle's bar and the loft he called home.)

But for Katniss, it meant her own dreams were put on hold indefinitely.

Now, nearly seven years later, she regrets nothing she has done for her little sister. Prim has blossomed into a poised, intelligent, driven young woman, and Katniss could not be more proud of her.

But at twenty-five, she has very little to show for years of hard work other than Prim's accomplishments. She spends her days working at Cray's and most nights tending bar at her Uncle Haymitch's pub, and in between shifts, in the meager time she gets to herself, she writes.

Her poems sit in a thick three-subject spiral bound notebook, waiting for Katniss to recoup the motivation to take out her guitar and compose the notes that will transform her words into full-fledged songs.

The notebook is gathering dust these days.

So yes, her friendship with Johanna Mason is about the only joy Katniss gets from her day job.

Johanna has only worked at Cray's for ten months now; Katniss is still learning bits and pieces about the abrasive brunette, who is slow to share details of her own guarded past. But it's nice to have a girl friend again, and Johanna is a surprisingly good listener and a sympathetic ear.

Her shift continues in relative quiet, something for which Katniss is grateful, because on top of the ice-cold shower that still resonates in her bones a few hours later, her abdomen feels like an extraterrestrial being is trying to claw its way out of her uterus thanks to some excruciatingly painful cramps, and her head still throbs faintly from the drinks she imbibed in last night. She wished she hadn't let the douchebag she was still casually dating talk her into those last two shots. She never drinks that much.

She tops off the coffee of the four construction workers who now occupy Table Eight, expertly deflecting their lame pickup lines and occasional leers. She shifts the coffee pot to her left hand as she makes her way to the back booth of her station to greet the two men who were sat just moments ago by Cray.

"Morning gentlemen. What can I get you started with?" She smiles tightly, knowing it does not reach her eyes (it usually doesn't) and she is well-aware that her tone could be more pleasant.

"I'll have a coffee, please." Katniss nods and finally glances at the young man to her left. She is immediately struck by his incredibly green eyes and his impossibly good looks. His coppery hair tumbles over his forehead and when he smiles up at her, his wide mouth is framed by deep dimples.

"One coffee." She nods again, dragging her eyes away from the Adonis to his dining companion.

"I'll have coffee too." There is a pause and then, "Hi, Katniss."

She freezes at the cordial tone of the voice. She doesn't recall introducing herself, now that she thinks about it. She studies the man carefully and is shocked when she realizes who is seated before her.

It's been years since she last saw Peeta Mellark. He looks nearly the same as he did in high school, though maturity has increased his good looks, if that's even at all possible. Peeta never lacked for attention from the females at Panem High School, and Katniss cannot help but notice the wavy blond hair, striking blue eyes and strong, chiseled jaw are just as she remembered.

"Oh, hey, Peeta." She momentarily considers feigning recognition but thinks better on it. But she is definitely awash with embarrassment that she is standing before Peeta Mellark…in a diner…where she _works_…about to serve him coffee. Judging by the well-tailored shirt Peeta wears, the silk tie and the pressed slacks, he clearly does okay for himself. _And look at how far I've come since high school_, she sighs inwardly.

"I didn't know you worked here," he says kindly, smiling at her. She quirks her lips up in a half-hearted attempt at a smile.

"Yeah, here I am."

"What, do you know everyone, Mellark?" the bronze-haired guy laughs.

"Sorry, Finnick Odair, this is Katniss Everdeen. Katniss, Finnick. Katniss and I went to high school together."

"Katniss, huh? I haven't heard that one before," Finnick winks at her, and Katniss can't be sure if the man is flirting with her or if he is simply a gregarious, friendly guy.

"Let me grab fresh coffee for you," she says hastily, motioning to the empty carafe in her hand. She moves swiftly back to the counter where Johanna smirks at her.

"What's got your panties in a twist?"

"Huh? What?" she stammers as she replaces the empty pot under the brewer and fills the filter with fresh grounds before pushing a button to start the machine. Another pot has just finished on the second machine, so she grabs that and faces Johanna.

"Um, those guys in the back booth? Seriously, why can't I get a decent table today? Don't even pretend that you didn't notice that those guys are both fuck-worthy!"

"I know one of them," she replies quietly, ignoring Jo's crass implication. "Went to high school with him."

"Red or Blondie?"

"The blond." She rolls her eyes. "His name is Peeta Mellark."

"They're both hot. Damn, Brainless. Check those ring fingers and then try to be charming."

"Thanks for the advice," she says dryly. "But I'm not interested in Peeta Mellark. He was a nice enough guy in high school, but so not my type." She spins on her heel and before Johanna can lob more questions at her, she returns to the booth, avoiding both men's eyes as she fills the waiting coffee cups before them.

But she does indeed sneak a glance at Peeta's left hand as she pours his coffee.

A thin band of silver (or more likely platinum) encircles the fourth finger. Married.

For what it's worth, the other man (Finnick, was it? And _her_ name is unusual?) is also clearly married. The sunlight streaming in through the slits of the blinds on the window glints off the gold band on his left hand as he reaches for the little dish of creamers.

Good. No need to waste any additional time at this table. _Take their orders and move on, Katniss_, she reminds herself.

"Have you guys decided?" she asks, grabbing her pad from her apron and angling the pencil above the sheet, poised to write.

"Eggs, overeasy. Bacon. Some of those home fries. You have those, right?"

"Yes," Katniss nods, scrawling the start of Finnick's order.

"Good. Um, could I get a muffin instead of toast?"

"I'll see what I can do," she replies. Cray hates substitutions, cheap bastard that he is, but Katniss knows if she can get Sae's ear, she can swap the toast that the meal comes with for something else. "For you?" She turns to Peeta. He smiles at her, and she is irritated by the mild fluttering she feels in her stomach.

It's the cramps, she decides.

"Anything you recommend?" he asks, those big blue eyes catching the slanted sunlight, making them sparkle.

"It's a diner. It's all pretty standard," she shrugs. She really doesn't want to engage him in more conversation than is necessary. It's humiliating enough to be waiting on him, and she has other tables to be concerned with.

"Okay then, I'll go with an omelet. Egg whites, if that's alright?"

"Sure," she nods, still avoiding his eyes, scribbling on the pad again. "Anything in it?" He scans the menu and contemplates her question.

"Feta cheese, black olives and onion," he decides, closing the menu.

"It's, ah, extra for the feta."

"No problem," he smiles.

She doesn't reply when she leaves to put their order in.

She can feel Peeta's eyes on her periodically as she bustles around her station, attending to her other tables and effectively ignoring him and his friend.

Katniss has always feared running into people from high school. She didn't particularly enjoy anything about the experience the first time around and there is nothing more awkward than idle chit chat with people you have to pretend you are happy to see again.

But seeing Peeta unnerves her more than she would like to admit.

Because she still owes him. She's not sure he remembers just how much he saved her that day almost eight years ago, but she does. And she's not sure she will ever forget it, nor is she certain she can ever truly explain just how much his small sacrifice meant to her.

She swallows and slides her eyes discreetly to the back booth just in time to see Peeta's friend jump off the bench, hurriedly tugging on his coat and frantically bolting for the door. Peeta remains alone at the table, phone in his hand, eyes cast down at the screen.

It's at that moment that Sae dings the bell that tells Katniss her order is up. Peeta's order.

She slides the two plates off the kitchen window and strides over to where Peeta sits.

"Your omelet," she says nonchalantly, placing it in front of him. He puts down his phone and smiles up at her.

"Thank you."

She sets down Finnick's spread at the empty place and coughs lightly. Peeta's eyes widen and he shakes his head.

"Oh, no. He, ah, had to go. His wife went into labor."

"Um, okay. Wow. That's, uh, exciting," she says, cringing at the lack of enthusiasm in her voice. Babies are supposed to be exciting, right? "So, uh, what should I do with his breakfast?"

"Don't worry about it. I'll still pay for it." She looks away, uncomfortable, as he continues to smile at her. "It's okay, really, Katniss. If I thought you wouldn't get into trouble, I'd ask you to sit and join me."

She fights to keep a blush off her cheeks. "Well, can I get you anything else?"

"I'm good, thanks." That smile. She wonders if his face hurts at the end of the day given how much he must use those facial muscles.

"Okay. Enjoy your breakfast."

"You're telling me everything about Blondie when we go out tonight!" Johanna calls as Katniss walks past her to retrieve another order that Sae rings out.

"Nothing to tell, Jo," she retorts.

"Those pink cheeks say otherwise, Brainless!"

"He's married, Jo. Shut up."

She stops back at Peeta's booth occasionally to check on him; she knows she is an efficient waitress and she can't very well avoid him just on principle. He asks for a refill on his coffee once, but otherwise, he politely responds that he's fine and continues eating in silence, his eyes trained on the screen of the iPad that now rests to the right of his plate. Katniss sneaks a glance at the tablet as she's leaving the table, and she assumes he must be in some kind of business given the graphs and numbers that she catches a brief glimpse of.

The fourth time she pauses at the booth, he asks for the check. She nods and drops the bill on the table, reminding him that he pays at the counter. She moves to the booth in front of his to greet a party of three older women and take their drink order. As she's stepping away from the table, she hears him call her name.

"Katniss?"

"Yeah?" She pauses before him.

A sheepish expression clouds Peeta's handsome face, and Katniss frowns in anticipation.

"I, uh, this is really embarrassing," he says softly. "I don't have my wallet. I must have left it at home this morning." He nervously rakes his hand through his short blond waves.

Katniss's stomach twists anxiously as she thinks back to that morning years ago.

"It's fine, Peeta," she says slowly, drawing quick breaths between the words. "Consider this payback for the paper."

His eyes narrow to blue slits, a perplexed look settling into them.

"What paper?" he asks suspiciously. Katniss tugs at the bottom of her apron and chews her lower lip.

"The paper. From Mrs. Coin's biology class junior year? Half our final grade?"

Recognition dawns on his face and he laughs gently.

"I can't believe you remember that."

"I remember," she replies softly. "I never thanked you for what you did for me that day. I would have failed that class and I would have had to go to summer school instead of lifeguarding at the pool." She pauses, unsure how much she wants Peeta Mellark to know about her past. "We, ah, really needed the money I made that summer. So thank you."

His eyes are locked on hers, and she shifts on the balls of her feet, shuffling uneasily before him.

"You got an A on that paper, by the way," she adds. "96. It was really, really well-written." She drops her gaze. "I never could have handed in anything that good."

"I'm sure you would have done just fine," he chides. "And it wasn't your fault your computer died."

"You knew that?" she asks, surprised. He nods.

"I heard you telling Madge Undersee. And you needed it more than I did."

She's more than embarrassed that in all the years she has agonized over owing Peeta Mellark, she never once questioned what consequences befell him for not submitting a paper that day. She can still see him so clearly, handing the paper to Ms. Coin, telling her he had spilled his energy drink on Katniss's cover sheet but the paper itself was fine. His paper.

"You didn't get in too much trouble?" she asks quietly. He smiles ruefully.

"Got docked a full letter grade for it being late and the paper was pretty shitty being I wrote it in three hours, but it didn't affect my final grade too much." He hesitates, as if he wants to say more, but he stops himself. An awkward silence prevails.

"So, uh," she begins, reaching for the check. He covers her hand with his, and she glances at him, alarmed at the tiny jolt that passes between them at the contact. She can feel the metal of his wedding band where it rests against her own bare fingers. She yanks back her hand, but his fingers clutch the paper too tightly.

"I can't let you pay my bill," he says, holding in place with those hypnotic blue pools. "You don't owe me anything."

"I do," she insists.

"Everdeen, you've got other tables!" Cray snaps from his perch. She shoots him a nasty glare.

"I'm settling with a customer, Cray," she yells back.

"Listen," Peeta says, withdrawing his hand and deftly yanking the bill from her grasp. "My restaurant isn't that far from here. I can be back here with an AmEx card in about an hour. It'd be faster if I didn't have to walk. Finnick took my car to go get his wife."

"You have a restaurant?" she asks, unable to keep the awe from her voice.

"I do," he smiles. "Finnick and I, we opened it together about a year ago."

"That's wonderful," she replies, her humiliation complete that this man _owns_ (co-owns, okay, but same difference) a restaurant, and she _works_ in a diner. _A diner_. Fuck.

"Thanks. So what do you say? I'm good for it, I swear."

"You have to let me do this, Peeta. Please let me pay for your breakfast. Wipe the slate clean."

He shakes his head and drums his fingers against the table. His iPhone pings, muffled by the depths of his trousers, but he makes no move to retrieve it. She can see him mulling it over.

"Alright," he sighs. "If it will make you happy, I'll allow it." He frowns. "But I can't walk out of here without leaving you a tip."

"Please." She waves her hand dismissively. "I think I'll live without a couple of dollars."

"I'm in the business, Katniss. I can't _not_ leave a tip. You're not winning this one." He rummages in his pocket and slaps a dollar bill and a lottery ticket on the table. Katniss raises an eyebrow at him and an amused smile tugs at her mouth.

"Shit," he frowns, a reddish stain blooming on his neck and cheeks. "I always have at least a few bucks in my pocket."

_Probably to stuff in homeless guys' coffee cans or those tins near the register at the convenience stores with the photos of sickly dogs and cats_, Katniss thinks to herself. Peeta Mellark is just that kind of man.

"Peeta, it's really alright. I don't need a tip."

"I'll make you a deal," he continues, his eyes wandering to the ticket. "Do you play the lottery?"

"Uh, no," she admits. Katniss does not say it aloud, but she has always thought the lottery was for fools. It's throwing money away, really.

"Katniss!" Cray barks. She bites her lip.

"Go on, Peeta. It was nice seeing you again."

"I'm not going anywhere. You're not getting off that easily. I'll wait." His tone is emphatic as he settles back against the booth and begins swiping at the iPad again. Katniss stares at him, but he does not look up. She sighs and makes quick work of dealing with the booth adjacent to Peeta's before dropping a check to the couple now seated at Table Four.

"Stop flirting with the customers and do your fucking job," Cray hisses at her as she passes the host stand. She fights back the urge to flip off the irritable older man and gives him a withering glare instead.

She returns to Peeta and waits expectantly for him to glance up. His index finger moves deftly across the screen of his phone as he texts furiously. He appears agitated. She coughs softly to snare his attention. He glances up and pastes a quick smile on his face, shoving the iPhone back in the breast pocket of his shirt.

"You came back."

She rolls her eyes. "What, did you think I was going to leave you here sitting by yourself and ignore you for the rest of the day until you gave up and went away?" He shrugs lightly, and Katniss thinks he is going to reply, but he doesn't.

"Peeta," she begins, "you don't owe me anything. Please, consider this a debt paid and we call it even."

"Are you feeling lucky, Katniss?" he asks, his tone changing abruptly. It almost sound like…an invitation. She ignores the flurry of nerves swirling in her stomach and shakes her head. _Married, Katniss. Married._

"I'm about the least lucky person you'll meet."

"Well, your luck's gotta change sometime, right?" He gestures at the lottery ticket. "I'm not usually a betting man either. My, uh…" He scratches at his temple and clears his throat quietly. "My wife makes me buy a ticket every Tuesday and Friday."

Katniss wrinkles her nose, unsure of where this conversation is going. She does know she does not really want to hear about Peeta's wife, whoever she may be. She tries to recall the girls who Peeta dated in high school and figures he's probably married to some willowy blonde with huge breasts and mile-long legs.

The exact opposite of a woman like her.

"I've never bought a lottery ticket a day in my life," she says, glancing at the little lavender sheet of paper on the table.

"Really?" He seems surprised. "Not even that scratch-off kind?" She shakes her head. She isn't about to tell him she cannot waste her hard-earned money on such a frivolous expense. It's not worth it.

"Well then, here's my offer for you, Katniss. Your tip is half this ticket. Whatever it may win tonight."

She can't contain the bitter laugh that erupts from her. He can't be serious.

"You're kidding, right? Look, I told you that you didn't need to leave me a tip. Half of nothing is still nothing, Peeta." She finds her irritation swelling and her pulse quickens. "Are you done having fun at my expense? Because I have work to do." She turns to storm away from the booth, but Peeta lurches to his feet and grabs her elbow.

"Whoa, hold on." He grips her arm tightly, and her eyes flash fire as she struggles to free herself from his grasp.

"Let go of me," she orders through gritted teeth.

"I'll let go when we can finish this conversation civilly without you jumping down my throat." His eyes challenge hers, and as she glares at him, she finds herself studying the exact color of his wide orbs. They are so ridiculously blue at this close distance that she can't fathom that they're not contact lenses. But having known Peeta since kindergarten, she knows they're the real deal.

She wrenches her arm loose and crosses both arms defiantly across her chest.

"You have thirty seconds. Talk."

"Okay," he says. "See, tonight's jackpot is some insane amount. Like hundreds of millions of dollars. So the odds are certainly not in our favor. But even if three or four of the numbers match, that's a decent amount of money."

"You've thought about this a little too much," she scowls, tossing her braid back over her shoulder.

"If the ticket comes up completely empty, I'll come back here tomorrow morning and leave you a respectable tip on this bill. Or better yet, you can come to my restaurant one night and have dinner on me." He glances down at her and as he blinks several times, the sun catches those long, golden eyelashes. "What do you think?"

"I think I don't need your charity," she retorts, lowering one hand to her hip. It's a ludicrous proposition, but Katniss is growing weary of fighting him.

"It's not charity. You earned a tip."

She throws her hands up in surrender. "Fine. What the hell? My luck can't possibly get any shittier. You're on." She juts her right hand forward, and a sly smile creeps onto his lips as he extends his own right hand to shake hers slowly.

Again, she ignores the tingle that travels up her arm from his touch. She releases his hand quickly and purposely walks away, leaving him standing beside the now-empty booth.

When she returns to clear the space a few minutes later, he is gone.

But on the table is a small, rectangular card. She picks it up and examines the elegant, embossed writing:

_THIRTEEN-12_

_Peeta Mellark_

_Co-owner and Executive Chef_

Underneath the restaurant's address and phone and fax numbers, there is a row of numbers in neat handwriting.

The lotto numbers.

Katniss sighs and tucks the business card into the pocket of her apron. She vows to leave it there.

And she does. When her shift ends three hours later and she shoves her things into her backpack to head home, she pushes all thoughts of the lottery ticket from her mind.

She is mildly irritated to discover she cannot so easily do the same with Peeta Mellark.

* * *

_Feedback is much appreciated! Thank you for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note: **_Wow. I am so very humbled by the lovely response I got to the first chapter of this story. Thank you so much for all the positive reviews, the follows and the favorites. I am glad so many of you are enjoying it and so many of you have a soft spot for the movie too.

THG belongs to Suzanne Collins; for future reference, the lottery in this story will be a fictional mix of local and PowerBall & MegaMillions rules/guidelines. I've taken some liberties after researching a few state and national lottos.

As always, thanks be to ILoveRynMar and Jeeno2 for their guidance and support. Love you both.

* * *

_(Peeta)_

Peeta shifts the bulk of the enormous flower arrangement to his left arm, careful not to get any of the delicate stems tangled in the ribbons that dangle from the Mylar balloons bobbing above his head. He clicks the remote to lock his car and navigates the dim parking garage until he locates a set of double doors that lead to the hospital's main entrance, and he steps into the lobby, a wide, expansive atrium that bustles with people even at this early evening hour.

He gives the receptionist his name and waits patiently for her to locate Finnick and Annie's information in the computer. She gives him a bored smile and cracks her gum as she tells him the Odairs are in Suite 214 in the maternity ward. Her lacquered nails wave in the air as she gestures to the elevators and goes back to reading her gossip rag.

Peeta carefully pens his name in the visitor log and takes a badge before walking in the direction of the bank of elevators.

He's never liked hospitals. He's not really sure anyone does, but he has had a particular dislike for them ever since his father was diagnosed with stage-1 prostate cancer. Fortunately, the doctors caught the cancer early; there has been no sign of it for five years, and thus, Peeta is cautiously optimistic that from here on out, his hospital visits will consist of happier ones.

Like his reason for being here tonight. Glancing up at the inflated blue bottle that proudly declares "It's a Boy!" and the cluster of smaller silver and turquoise helium balloons flanking it, he smiles.

He watches the elevator numbers flicker on and off as it rises to the fifth floor, trying to push down the irritation that has simmered in him since he left his house. The car ride to the hospital had quelled some of it, but now that he is here, his anger bubbles to the surface anew.

It wouldn't have killed Glimmer to plaster on one of her patented, well-practiced fake smiles (the same ones she uses at the Mellark family brunches every Sunday) and joined him to celebrate the birth of Finnick's and Annie's son. He feels his pulse quicken, the frustration returning as he recalls the indifferent expression on her pretty face when he excitedly relayed the news.

It's no secret that Glimmer has never cared for most of Peeta's friends, but she has always been especially cool to Finnick's wife. The two women could not be anymore different; Glimmer is as outgoing and talkative as Annie is reserved and shy. But whereas Annie has always tried to be kind to Peeta's wife, inviting her to girls' dinners and book club meetings, Glimmer rejects every one of Annie's efforts. She prefers the company of her own girlfriends, nightclubs and shopping sprees and the spa. Peeta almost wishes Annie would just stop trying.

He's not quite sure where the girl he fell in love with in college has disappeared to within the last two years. But he knows it's not the woman to whom he is currently married, and he knows he should not feel as miserable as he does in her presence.

He notes the _2-1-4_ on the placard next to the door in front of him so he knocks lightly, signaling his arrival. He waits a moment then slowly pushes the door open.

Finnick lies alongside Annie, his left arm around her. Both are scrunched into the narrow space of the hospital bed, gazing down at a blue bundle nestled in Annie's arms. They wear twin expressions of complete and total adoration, and Peeta is almost reluctant to enter and spoil the new family's first moments together.

But Finnick glances up, and his grin widens further as he spies Peeta and waves anxiously with his free arm.

"Hey, guys," Peeta whispers, smiling broadly as Annie glances up and welcomes him with a smile of her own. She looks exhausted, but Peeta decides she's never looked more beautiful than she does right now.

He sets down the flowers and loops the balloon strings through the chair near the door, the weights at the bottom tethering them down.

"Peeta, thank you so much for coming," Annie says, her tired eyes crinkling happily.

"Like I'd be any place else," he replies, leaning over to press a kiss to her damp forehead. He reaches over and pats Finnick on the shoulder.

"Meet Finnick Douglas Odair, Junior," Finnick declares proudly, tugging back the blanket to reveal the red, wrinkled face of the newborn. The baby sleeps peacefully, his tiny mouth parted, his little chest rising and falling quickly with his rapid, shallow breaths.

"He's…" Peeta falters to find the words to adequately express his elation for them. He has three nephews already, but to see his best friends with their first child, it's a different feeling, an indescribable one. "He's perfect."

"He is," Finnick agrees, tracing his thumb over the infant's downy crown.

"Where's Glimmer?" Annie asks quietly, though her eyes indicate to Peeta she already suspects the answer.

"She, ah, wasn't feeling well," he supplies. Finnick raises an eyebrow at him and gives him a reproachful look.

"Not fooling us, Peet. You never do."

Peeta shuffles uncomfortably but mercifully, the door swings open and a stout, older nurse enters wheeling a bassinette.

"Here to take the little guy for his stats. Give Mom and Dad a rest," she announces cheerfully. Annie purses her lips and glances down at her son. Finnick squeezes her shoulder.

"It's fine, Ann. You definitely need a rest. They'll bring him back soon."

"It's pretty standard, Annie," Peeta adds, remembering the times he's visited his brother and sister-in-law with each subsequent baby they've welcomed, the last one only a few months ago.

"Okay," she replies uncertainly, biting her lip as the nurse scoops the sleeping baby into her arms. His eyes fly open and his mouth twists into a tiny 'o' as he emits a piercing wail.

"That's our cue," the nurse laughs, settling Finnick Jr. into the bassinette and steering it towards the door. "Take your husband's advice, Mrs. Odair. Get some sleep. It may be the last you get for awhile." She chuckles to herself and disappears.

Finnick rises and presses a firm kiss to Annie's lips. "Rest. My orders. You just brought my eleven-pound son into this world."

Peeta's eyes widen. "Eleven pounds! Holy shit, Annie. You're Wonder Woman."

"And it only took her six hours," Finnick crows. "But it couldn't have been anywhere near as fun delivering him as it was making him."

Annie blushes. "It was worth it." She yawns and closes her eyes, leaning back against the pillow.

Peeta feels a tightening in his chest as he watches them interact. It's so easy, so natural. He envies them, he realizes guiltily. _This_ is what marriage is supposed to be about. _This _is what he expected, what he hoped for. _This_ is what has been steadily slipping away from him.

"Peet, you want to go get something from the commissary? They bring the new mama food, but the proud papa? I gotta fend for myself."

"You'd eat the hospital out of house and home in one night," Annie murmurs, not opening her eyes. Finnick laughs and claps Peeta on the back.

"C'mon. Let's see if this place can hold a candle to Thirteen-12."

Finnick presses a tender kiss to his wife's head before they slip out of the room and meander through the halls. Finnick gleefully relates the details of Nick's (as Annie has decided the baby should be called) birth. Peeta listens politely, though he's not certain he needs to hear all about afterbirths and episiotomies.

After grabbing a few sandwiches and sodas from the cafeteria, they choose a table and settle down to eat.

Not but two seconds after they sit down, Peeta's phone pings. He gives Finnick a pointed look and pulls it from his pocket, frowning as he reads the text message.

_Glimmer: where r u?_

It drives Peeta nuts that his wife texts like a teenager.

He sighs and begins typing a reply: _I'm at the hospital w. Finn and Annie. You know that. _They fought about it not but an hour ago. Her short-term memory _cannot_ be that bad.

"What does the bitch want?" Finnick asks around a mouthful of chicken salad. Peeta sighs again and places his phone next to his Coke. He knows his best friend is not a fan of Glimmer, and Finnick's never been shy about hiding his disdain for her.

"Nothing."

"Things that good, huh?"

"She's in a funk lately," Peeta replies carefully. He tells Finnick everything, but there is one facet of his marriage that he has kept wholly to himself. He can't very well spoil Finnick's joyous occasion by venting his frustrations that his own wife refuses to even entertain the idea of children.

It's not that they are ready for a baby, not by a long shot. And truthfully, he wouldn't dare bring a child into his marriage in the state it's currently in; babies are not Band-Aids. He definitely heard that on Dr. Phil or Dr. Oz or one of those fake TV therapists that he tends to find himself watching when he's been home sick on the couch. But before he and Glimmer had wed, they had several conversations about children and wanting them, and Peeta had thought they were on the same page. Not right away, but someday.

In the last year, however, "someday" started sounding more like "one day," and even more recently, over the last few months, as they've watched Finnick and Annie navigate their first pregnancy, as well as watched his brother try to manage three young boys, Glimmer has made hints that "one day" may in fact be "never."

He's definitely not sure that children are something he can live without.

The phone pings again and Peeta glances down at the illuminated screen.

_Glimmer: Im hungry. how much longer?_

He ignores the text and picks up his own sandwich.

"So you didn't get to finish telling me about our waitress from this morning," Finnick smirks.

Peeta furrows his brow, a gully creased on his forehead as he considers his encounter with Katniss Everdeen. He can't ignore the strange feeling he has that walking into that diner this morning and crossing paths with her was more than coincidence.

For starters, he and Finnick almost never stop and sit down to breakfast, and in the few instances that they have, they tend to frequent diners and cafes closer to their restaurant. More often than not, they usually just grab things from the bakery across the street.

"What's to tell?" he asks casually.

"Peet, it's me. What's the story?"

Peeta rakes a hand through his hair, glaring at the phone when its screen glows again.

Finnick is his best friend; they don't hide anything from each other.

He begins with the simplest explanation he can provide. "We, uh, went to high school together. Like I told you."

"She's cute."

Peeta considers Finnick's assessment. Cute does not do Katniss Everdeen justice.

Cute was the pigtailed, freckle-faced girl who immediately caught Peeta's attention when she was seated next to him on the first day of kindergarten. He can't say that he loved her at first sight, because what five-year-old knows what that means, but Peeta knew from the second he saw Katniss Everdeen that he just wanted to be around her all the time. He found ways to stand by her in line, he always picked her for Seven-Up, and he listened attentively when she read aloud.

As they rose through elementary and middle school though, they had fewer classes together, and they certainly didn't run with the same crowds. Katniss kept largely to herself, and Peeta always seemed to be surrounded by people. Other than the biology paper, the closest Peeta came to any genuine conversation with Katniss Everdeen at school was a group project in sophomore year history class. He thinks she might have said four words directly to him during the whole process.

So it's been easy to suppress the feelings he used to have for the raven-haired beauty since high school ended. Out of sight, out of mind is actually a fairly accurate cliché.

"She is," he nods, chewing his sandwich. "Cute, that is."

"You liked her, didn't you?"

"You do know me too well," Peeta laughs ruefully. "Yeah, I liked her."

"And you never told her." It's not a question; again there is little that Peeta can hide from Finnick.

Peeta once again considers the limited contact he had with Katniss over the years. Other than school, he would occasionally see her when she came into his father's deli. He had always managed to become tongue-tied at her presence and would only gather his senses in time to take her money or wrap her sandwiches. He did usually sneak a cookie into the bag for her sister when he knew Katniss wasn't looking. She suspected she didn't enjoy charity, and he was somewhat amused to learn this morning that those latent suspicions had been correct.

Then there was Gale Hawthorne. Peeta can't really remember a time when the older boy wasn't hanging around Katniss. Peeta never could quite understand what their relationship was all about. There were no overt signs that they were dating: no hand-holding in the halls, no stolen kisses at lockers, no appearances together at school dances. (Come to think of it, he never once saw Katniss at a school dance.) But other than Madge Undersee, Gale was the only person to whom Katniss seemed to give the time of day.

Even after Gale graduated and was no longer always at Katniss's side, Peeta had all but given up hope that Katniss would ever turn those silver eyes in his direction. And by then, he had casually dated Delly Cartwright (which lasted all but two months before they realized they were nothing more but friends) and was just starting a new relationship with Bristel Tyler (who he dated until the summer after his own graduation).

"Nah," he replies. "She kind of had a boyfriend, and well, we didn't have the same social circle, so I guess the odds weren't really in our favor." He pauses, a fleeting sense of déjà vu sweeping over him til he recalls using the same phrase in conversation with Katniss yesterday.

"Fate?" his friend snorts. "Are you seriously pulling that lame bullshit on me?"

"It's not worth dwelling on, Finn. It just wasn't meant to be, you know?"

Finnick shakes his head in disbelief at him. "You're just not happy lately, Peet. You haven't been happy for awhile. You're so good at putting on that winning Mellark smile and fooling people with those baby blues, but you said it yourself: I know you too well."

Peeta shreds his napkin into tiny squares and avoids Finnick's eyes.

"Part of me wishes I could go back to that first day you met, keep you away from Glimmer. Because, fuck, man, if I had only known then what I do now…"

Peeta glances up and glares at him, effectively cutting off Finnick's train of thought.

Finnick had been his big brother at his fraternity, and a few weeks into Peeta's freshman year, they had attended a mixer at their sister sorority.

Peeta knows he subconsciously dated nothing but blondes in the wake of his hopeless crush on Katniss. Both girlfriends that he had had in high school had been blonde. Most of the girls he ogled in Grant's dirty magazines were some shade of blonde, bottle or not. (He realizes now years later why he only found those magazines in Grant's room and not Kieran's too.)

So when a tall, lithe blonde had approached him that night at the Delta Gamma house, Peeta had welcomed the attention she showered on him. He hadn't been with a girl since right after high school graduation, and so he had eagerly allowed the giggly, drunken girl go down on him in her bedroom later that night. He had found himself strangely attracted to her despite the fact they had very little in common. Glimmer Monroe may have been a little ditzy, but she was carefree and fun-loving and oozed confidence. Her perfectly toned body and perky breasts hadn't hurt either.

And his mother adored her. That should have been the first red flag, he notes cynically.

It was only natural after dating all through college to take the next step, he had reasoned. And so he proposed, Glimmer gleefully accepted and she threw herself into planning an elaborate wedding while he busted his ass to make a name for himself working at various restaurants around the city. It didn't even bother him initially that after graduation Glimmer resisted looking for a job. She was happy, so he was happy.

But now, barely two years into their marriage, he was not expecting the Glimmer he fell in love with to yield to the Glimmer who lies beside him at night, keeping to her own side of the bed, ignoring his touches and responding reluctantly when he initiates anything.

"Glimmer has nothing to do with my mood," he frowns at Finnick.

It's a bald-faced lie and they both know it.

As if on cue, the phone buzzes and jumps, and Peeta knows this is a call and not just a text message.

He ignores Finnick's disapproving look as he swipes his finger across the screen and raises the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" He braces himself for the shrill yelling that he fully anticipates on the other end. There is nothing but silence. "Hello?" he repeats again. The call drops and Peeta glances down at the phone to see there is virtually no reception where they are sitting.

Seconds later, his phone flashes a missed call and another text message bubble pops up.

_Glimmer: so now ur not answering ur phone? real mature peeta._

He heaves a sigh and rubs at his temples and picks up the phone again.

_Peeta: No reception in the hospital. Will be home soon. Promise._

He waits for the reply that never comes.

"You have a right to be happy, Peet," Finnick adds quietly. They finish the rest of their sandwiches in silence and throw out the trash before heading back to the Odairs' suite.

When he and Finnick arrive at Annie's room, she is fast asleep, the soft glow of the television screen flickering just below the ceiling. Finnick grabs the remote from the bedside table and flicks it to ESPN, pushing the mute button.

"You should probably get going," he tells Peeta softly. "We really appreciate you coming, man."

"You sure you don't want company? Someone to watch the game with until Annie wakes up or they bring the little guy back?" Peeta offers, silently imploring his best friend to ask him to stay, to prolong his return home to the inevitable blowup when Glimmer unleashes her irritation on him for the second time that day.

"Nah, I might try to close my eyes too." He reaches over and pulls Peeta into a tight hug, thumping him on the back affectionately. "Thanks, Peet."

"Anytime. You know I love you both." He steps back and smiles genuinely at Finnick. "I'm so happy for you. You did good." Finnick's eyes crinkle and his dimples appear as he returns the smile.

"We did, didn't we?" He glances behind him at his sleeping wife, and Peeta sees the undeniable love on his best friend's face.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow. Once you guys are home and settled, give me a call. I'm going in early to do the schedule for next week."

"Don't work too hard!" Finnick yells after him.

"Enjoy the paternity leave," Peeta calls back. He waves and trudges down the sterile hallway, his steps slow and measured as he exits the hospital and locates his car in the parking garage.

He drives the few miles home in quiet contemplation of what most likely awaits him when he gets there.

It's times like tonight where Peeta wishes he owned a dog. At least a four-legged friend wouldn't judge him and would show nothing but joy upon Peeta's arrival home each night. His mother never allowed him and his brothers to have pets, and sadly, he married a woman who likes animals even less than she likes household chores. Another details she didn't fully disclose to him until after the wedding.

He breaks in front of the mailbox to retrieve the small stack of bills and oversized fashion magazines then steers the car into the driveway and pushes the garage door opener.

He is surprised, to say the least, when the one-car garage is revealed to be empty. Glimmer's Audi coupe is nowhere to be seen. Throwing his own car into gear again, he pulls into the garage and parks, turning off the engine and extricating himself from the driver's side carefully. The garage is narrow, and he always seems to park too far to the left in the few occasions he gets to use it. His car usually remains on the driveway.

He enters the house, tossing the mail onto the small island in the center of the kitchen and pauses, listening to the stark silence that greets him. The odor of the faux pine disinfectant that the cleaning lady uses dominates the air.

Peeta despises the fact that a stranger cleans his house twice a week. The woman, an older Russian immigrant named Rooba, does meticulous work, but he'd rather just clean himself. It's Glimmer who insists on having help, and Peeta knows it is as much a status symbol to her as it is her own reticence to cleaning.

"Glim?" he calls uncertainly. No reply.

He sweeps his eyes over the kitchen counter, looking for a note.

Nothing.

He glances at the refrigerator, knowing from time to time, Glimmer will stick a Post-It note there instead.

Nothing. The stainless steel doors are as bare as they always are. Glimmer hates clutter on the fridge. No photos, no magnets. Nothing.

Frowning, he throws open the refrigerator door and scans the shelves, closing his fingers around the cold neck of a bottle of Sam Adams. He shuts the fridge and cracks open the beer, taking a long pull off it before he notices the red light pulsing on the wall phone.

He takes another sip before pressing the blinking button. The robotic voice announces two new messages before a pronounced beep yields to his mother's unmistakable tone.

"Peeta, it's Mother. I was just-"

He sighs and pushes the button again, cutting off the message before whatever it is his mother has to say further exacerbates his foul mood. He can deal with her tomorrow.

The next message announces itself, and he groans with a start as his eldest brother's voice fills the kitchen.

"Hey, Peet. So I tried to get a hold of you about an hour ago, but your cell didn't pick up and it wouldn't go to voicemail. Give me a call when you get this. Thanks, bro."

Peeta exhales and sets down his beer. He really doesn't feel much like talking to Grant right now, but he decides to get the call over with and hits the button on his cell. His phone dials, and Grant's beaming face fills the screen as the call connects.

"Hey baby bro," he enthuses.

_Shit, _Peeta thinks. He did not intend to hit the FaceTime button.

"Hey," he says flatly, trying to force a smile onto his face.

"Long day? You look like hell." A blond blur races past Grant, followed by a second blur and punctuated by high-pitched squeals. His nephews, no doubt; Grant's kids are regular hellions, no doubt a direct result of his brother's and his sister-in-law's permissive parenting styles.

"Thanks. I just got back from the hospital. Finn and Annie had their baby today."

Grant's face lights up. "What? That's awesome!"

Peeta waits for Grant to pepper him with questions about the new baby. Grant clears his throat.

"That's actually, uh, what I was calling about, Peet. Charys and I are expecting again. She's pregnant."

Peeta doesn't know what to say; he stunned for sure. Grant and Charys already have three boys, the youngest of whom is only seven months old and the oldest just four.

"Congrats, Grant," he says quietly. "Maybe Charys will finally get her girl." He knows his sister-in-law was none too pleased that the last baby she birthed was another boy. Grant dismisses her lack of interest in the chubby infant as post-partum depression.

Peeta sympathizes with his youngest nephew. He's been there before.

And he is reminded every single time he speaks with Grant that his brother essentially married their mother.

"That's what she's hoping," Grant replies brightly. An ear-piercing scream shatters the connection on Grant's end, and Peeta winces, so loud is the sound. It's followed by a massive crash and a prolonged wail.

"Grant? Where the fuck are you?" Charys's voice is sharp and clipped, and Peeta tries not to be mildly shocked that her language is so colorful around the children.

Peeta cringes as his brother's eyes widen and he calls over his shoulder to his wife that he'll be right there. Peeta reiterates his happiness for them before the call is disconnected. He drains the rest of his beer in one swallow and carries the bottle to the sink, rinsing it thoroughly before dropping it into the recycling bin beside the garbage can. He returns to the fridge and grabs another Sam before shutting the door with a swift kick of his foot.

Loosening his tie, he climbs the stairs, beer in hand, and begins to strip off his clothes. He hadn't even made it to the gym today, but he suddenly wants nothing more than to stand beneath the hot spray and lose himself in his thoughts. He also knows he needs some kind of release from the tension that has built within him today, his senses having been assaulted with memories of Katniss Everdeen. He finishes shedding his clothes, tossing them into the hamper and grabs some sweats and an old Panem High wrestling t-shirt from his drawer. It's been awhile since he wore the tee, yet he knows why he is compelled to do so tonight. It's foolish, but he lays the shirt on the bed nonetheless.

He starts the shower and turns the faucet all the way to the left, watching the steam begin to rise in the stall, fogging the frosted door as the water rapidly heats from warm to scalding. He twists the faucet back to the right a bit and steps in under the pulsating spray.

Glimmer had to have some ridiculously complicated shower head when they remodeled the bathroom shortly after moving into the house, and she never seems to leave it on the same setting on consecutive days. He reaches up and clicks the dial until the water cascades down in a simple, soothing stream. He breathes deeply and leans his forehead forward until the touches the cool tile, allowing the water to beat down on his back.

His thoughts ricochet around his jumbled mind; he thinks of Finnick and Annie's joy, Glimmer's anger, Grant's chaotic home.

And then he thinks about Katniss. Again. _Fuck_.

He pictures those quicksilver eyes, the ebony tresses that even now as an adult are wound into that intricate braid she always wore as a teenager, the curves of her breasts and the rise of her hips. As has been the case so often lately, his soapy palm meanders down and closes around his hardening cock, stroking it up and down in a steady rhythm.

His eyes slip shut as her lovely face dominates his vision, and his hand increases its ministrations, the pumping motion becoming faster as his breathing accelerates. He imagines its her slender fingers wrapped around him, urging him on towards ecstasy.

It's been weeks since he and Glimmer last had sex (a quick mental calculation reminds him it was his birthday and thus it had likely been more of marital obligation than his wife actually wanting him that night) and in spite of the fact that he now brings himself to release several times a week, he feels the familiar tightening in his balls quicker than usual. He comes with a grunt moments later, spilling himself onto the tile wall. The milky white stream disappears among the rivulets of water swirling into the drain, and Peeta finishes washing himself quickly, shutting off the faucet and wrapping a towel around his waist as he exits the shower.

As he towel-dries his wet blond hair, he feels a twinge of shame for what he just did. Not that he hadn't jerked off to the visual of Katniss Everdeen more times than he could count in high school and college, but he has never once thought of another _actual _woman (magazines and porn doesn't count, he decides) in the years he has been married to Glimmer. Not when he's masturbated and never they've made love.

His guilt lingers as he towels off and throws on his sweats, forgoing the tee shirt. No more reminders of his past are necessary tonight. He grabs his beer and heads downstairs to wait for Glimmer to return home.

He must nod off in front of the television because the basketball game he had been watching is long over when the sweep of headlights floods the room and he hears Glimmer's car pull into the driveway. A few seconds later, the familiar lurch of the garage door rising can be heard as well. He makes no move to rise from the couch to close the blinds that he left open though he knows Glimmer is particular about them being drawn at night. Let her yell about another thing. _Real mature, Peeta_, he chides himself.

The door from the garage to the house slams with a resonating thud, followed by the clink of Glimmer's keys hitting the kitchen counter. (In spite of her coupe having keyless entry, Glimmer's key ring contains no fewer than seven keys and ten to fifteen key tags for various stores and restaurants.) The unmistakable click of her heels against the granite tile of the kitchen floor gets louder, and he knows she is approaching the den.

"Look who's home," she smirks, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder as she crosses her arms across her chest, pausing in the doorway. Her eyes dart down to his bare chest, and she raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow at him.

"I've been home for awhile," he replies, changing the channel to another basketball game that has just tipped off. "Where'd you go?"

"Dinner with Clove. I got tired of waiting for you."

Peeta knows that one of his best traits is his amiable nature; he generally can find the best in most people. But Peeta cannot stand Glimmer's best friend. Clove Snow is a snide, manipulative woman who Peeta quietly blames for the changes in his wife in recent years. She had been one of Glimmer's sorority sisters, but Peeta had always found the petite brunette to be cold and calculating.

Around the same time Glimmer and Peeta wed, Clove snagged herself a much older man. Sugar Daddy is probably the more appropriate term, but Clove's husband, Coriolanus Snow, is a venture capitalist and a shrewd businessman. It's his money that allows Clove to live the kind of lifestyle that Peeta knows Glimmer envies.

His wife's unrealistic expectations for their own livelihood frustrate Peeta to no end. He's a twenty-five-year-old who owns his own restaurant and earns nearly six-figures doing so. How can that not please a beautiful young newlywed, especially one who does not have to work as a result of her husband's success? But Peeta feels like all that he does, all of his success, is never enough for Glimmer. Her almost-obsessive insistence that Peeta purchase lottery tickets biweekly fuels his paranoia.

"I told you I was coming home soon, Glim. Finnick is my best friend. Excuse me for wanting to be there on the happiest day of his life."

Glimmer flips her hair again and purses her lips at him. "I don't know why you couldn't have just waited to see the baby til they get home. You know the hospital will kick her out by noon tomorrow anyway."

"I've got a busy day, tomorrow, Glimmer," he replies. "The schedule for the rest of the month needs to be completed, and I need to interview temps to fill in for Annie while she's on maternity leave." Annie works part-time for Peeta and Finnick at Thirteen-12, managing the lunch shift hostesses and nighttime maitre'ds and sommeliers. She has occasionally filled in as a hostess herself on days and nights the restaurant is particularly busy or they find themselves short-staffed. A third-grade teacher, Annie lost her job when budget cuts swept through the district where she taught last spring. By late that summer, she and Finnick had learned they were expecting, so Annie opted not to pursue a new teaching job until after the baby was born. He wonders now that Nick is here if Annie will ever even want to go back.

He cuts his eyes at his wife. "Don't suppose you'd want to step in for a few months and help us out?"

She laughs sardonically and crosses to where he sits, dragging her manicured index finger along the line of his jaw.

"You're so charming." It doesn't come across as a compliment.

He shifts forward on the couch and makes a move to slide his hands up her thighs, just below where her short skirt ends, but she swats at him and takes a step back.

"I'm not in the mood," she snips. "Did you get my lottery ticket?"

He flops back against the couch cushions and picks up the remote again, flipping idly through the channels. "Yes, I got _our_ ticket. It's in the left pocket of my dress slacks." He remembers he tossed the pants in the hamper without removing the ticket first.

"The drawing is in ten minutes. Go get it."

He narrows his eyes at her before glancing back at the television. "I told you where it is. You want it, you get it. It's not like it's going anywhere."

"You're such an asshole sometimes," she snarls, flouncing off, her heels a sharp staccato on the hardwood floor. He listens to her stomp up the stairs like a petulant toddler, each step punctuated with a loud clack from her stilettos.

Peeta stares at the television, his eyes glassy, not really focusing on the action on the screen. He will be glad to head up to bed momentarily and put this evening behind him; sleep will be a welcome distraction. He wonders what Katniss is doing right now.

As the mantle clock's minute hand nears the eleven, he changes the channel to the local news, knowing the lottery numbers are drawn at five minutes to eleven.

Glimmer reappears, clad in her silk pajamas, her blonde hair tied back in a loose ponytail, her face scrubbed free of makeup. Peeta is reminded of how beautiful she can be when she is wholesome and natural like this.

He much prefers this Glimmer. He _wishes_ this was the real Glimmer.

She shoots him a look and tucks her legs under her as she settles into her corner of the couch, the tiny square of paper clutched between the fingers of her right hand.

Peeta sighs and picks up the latest issue of Sports Illustrated from underneath an old Food and Wine magazine. He begins to leaf through the pages, scanning the print to avoid any conversation with his wife.

The chirpy music of the lotto announces the drawing is imminent, and the smiling face of the perky girl who announces the numbers looms on the screen.

"And now for tonight's winning numbers!" she announces giddily. Peeta sneaks a glance at Glimmer, whose eyes are transfixed on the screen, darting rapidly to the ticket with each subsequent number that is called. "Thank you and good night!" the girl concludes, and the screen cuts to a bold graphic of the six winning numbers and today's date.

Peeta looks over at his wife again. Her mouth gapes open and her eyes are wide, and from this angle, Peeta swears he can discern a tremble in her hand that holds the ticket.

"Glim?" he asks hesitantly.

"We won," she whispers, her hand visibly shaking now. "We won." Her blue eyes shine with excitement as she begins to wave the ticket in the air. "Peeta, we _won_! We won!" She leaps to her feet and begins to scream.

"You cannot be serious." He plucks the ticket from her gesticulating hand and grabs for the remote again. He rewinds the DVR and pauses the screen, the six yellow orbs of the winning numbers frozen on a tableau of black.

One by one, his eyes shift between the ticket and the television.

16.

_Yes._

8.

_Yes._

42.

_Yes. _

His heart begins to pound and his throat constricts.

23.

_Yes. _His pulse quickens.

4.

_Yes._ _Holy shit_.

And the PowerBall…15.

_Yes. _Yes. Yes. Yes.

"Holy shit," he whispers aloud.

Glimmer is right.

They've won.

* * *

_A/N: I do appreciate hearing from my readers. I am not on tumblr, but I respond to every review and PM._

_For those of you unaware, I do have an historical AU that is about halfway through posting. (It's entirely written.) Please do check out A Favorable Wind if you haven't already. Thanks again for your support!_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note: **_Thank you for the reviews, the follows and the favorites in continued support of this story. I'm making good progress on it, and your kind words and comments certainly motivate me! I'm glad that so many people enjoyed the introduction of Peeta's vapid wife...it should be firmly established now just how deeply troubled this marriage already is!

THG belongs to Suzanne Collins.

Thanks to ILoveRynMar and Jeeno2 for their feedback on this chapter. ILY both, ladies! And additional thanks to HGRomance for her friendship and her therapy this week...you have been a lifesaver, my dear.

* * *

_(Katniss)_

Wednesday starts off much the same way Tuesday did.

Katniss is late for work. Again.

This morning it's for the simple reason that she overslept. She had closed Abernathy's with Haymitch, and when she finally crawled into bed at half-past two, it had taken another forty-five minutes before she drifted into a restless slumber.

She knows she needs to stop agreeing to bar shifts at Abernathy's Pub when she has to open the diner the next morning. But if there is one person Katniss has difficulty saying no to other than her little sister, it's Haymitch Abernathy.

Her uncle is the kind of man who makes a bad first impression before he worms his way into your heart.

She had met him exactly once before the first time her mother went to rehab. This was in spite of the fact he and his sister had lived in the same town for eight years. He had come over for Christmas dinner once when Katniss was nine and then she didn't see him again until she was thirteen. Katniss never really understood why he didn't visit more often; her mother never spoke ill of him and the siblings had no outward animosity between them before Tressa's death.

In fact, it had been Haymitch's idea for his younger sister to get herself help and try to turn things around, get back to being kind of mother she was when her husband was alive and the Everdeens had been a happy family of four.

The irony is that Haymitch himself is an alcoholic. A functioning alcoholic, but a drunk nonetheless. His biting, sarcastic nature helps to disguise the illness well and the patrons at his bar don't seem to care either way as long as the beer is cold and the food is decent. Katniss has never been fully convinced it's a good idea for a man with such demons to own such an establishment, but Abernathy's thriving business has always silenced her doubts.

As soon as Katniss turned eighteen and could legally serve alcohol, Haymitch taught her the ropes of bartending. The money was good and it wasn't technically a handout. He knew his stubborn niece would no longer allow him to provide for her now that she was legally an adult.

The money is still good, she reminds herself, which is why whenever Haymitch finds himself short-staffed for the evening, Katniss cannot say no to her cranky uncle.

"You're skating on thin ice, Everdeen," Cray barks from behind his podium, his watery eyes never leaving his newspaper as she breezes past him.

Katniss hates having to apologize to the grizzled old man. "Sorry."

"Are you trying to get fired?" Johanna hisses as Katniss glides past her.

"I'm not even that late," she retorts, glaring at the clock beside the door that proclaims it's nearly six a.m. "We don't open for ten more minutes." She pauses, glancing over at the petite brunette. "I know you had to do most of the set up alone, Jo. I owe you one."

Johanna's hazel eyes widen in disbelief. "Did Katniss Everdeen just say she _owed me_ something? Fuck me."

"Savor it," she smiles wryly.

"Stations are up." Cray glances up from his paper. "Who's bringing me my coffee?"

Katniss and Johanna exchange a glance.

"I'll get it, sir," a small voice pipes up before the two women can argue over the loathsome morning task. A skinny red-headed girl slinks past them with a steaming coffee cup. Johanna snorts and stuffs the rest of the Sweet and Lows behind the Splendas in the little white containers she has been filling.

"Foxface is such a fucking suck-up."

Johanna has christened the new waitress, Renata, that Cray hired last week "Foxface" because with her deep auburn hair, clear green eyes and narrow features, the girl kind of does resemble the animal. Furthermore, she always seems to be slinking around and appearing when Katniss least expects her to. The nineteen-year-old is so quiet most of the time Katniss forgets she is even there.

"Better her than us," Katniss replies, following Johanna to the front to take a peek at the floor plan for the day. She is about to turn to Johanna and gloat when she realizes her friend is smirking at her.

Katniss heaves a sigh. "You don't waste any time, do you?"

"Have fun in Kiddie Hell again, Everdeen!" Johanna rubs at the wipe-off board with her thumb and rewrites their names, swapping the original assignments Cray had posted for both of them.

And Kiddie Hell lives up to its name that morning.

Several hours later, Katniss is thoroughly exhausted from catering to several tables of crying infants and boisterous toddlers. It's just after ten a.m. and it seems the only customers she has had are children. The diner is relatively slow that morning, but the tables she's had have more than made up for the lull with their demands and the messes they've left. She has cleaned up spilled milk, apple juice and oatmeal, swept up more Cheerios than she can count, and her eardrums have been shattered with a cacophony of shrieks and screams. The tips have been mediocre at best.

Just when she thinks the morning can't get much worse, Cray seats one of her booths with three young guys. Katniss sizes them up, debating if they're high-school dropouts or college frat boys without morning classes when one of them snaps his fingers and barks, "Yo, babe. Can we get some service over here?"

She cringes at being called "babe" by anyone, and she immediately knows this table is going to try her already frayed patience.

"Morning, boys. What can I get you?" She forces a stiff smile onto her face and ignores the boys' blatant leers at her breasts. She's used to it by now between the diner and the bar.

"Your number," the tallest of the three cackles, earning a high-five from both his cretin buddies.

"I'll take your number too," the second guy adds. "In case Derrick gets tired of you." The tall guy, who must be Derrick, smacks his friend sharply across the back of his head.

"No more of my sloppy seconds, asshole," he chides. "Vanessa was the last, got it?"

Katniss rolls her eyes and turns her attention to the third guy, who isn't the slightest bit attractive and has a bad case of acne marring his face.

"Can I get you coffee or anything?"

His lip curls up and his eyes narrow, a seedy look in them.

"You'd be a lot hotter if you wore more makeup."

Katniss bites back an exasperated sigh. She does not need advice from a troll who's probably never been laid a day in his pathetic life.

"You've got thirty seconds to tell me what you three want and stop wasting my time," she spits, trying to keep her composure.

"Fuck you," the second guy snarls. "We're the customers. You have to listen to us."

"And we're always right," the pimple-faced one interjects.

Katniss presses her lips together so tightly a sharp burst of pain emanates from them. She struggles to keep her temper in check as she slowly counts to ten in her head.

"I'll take a chocolate milkshake," the first one pipes up.

"Ooh, yeah, me too!" Katniss chokes back a scathing remark about chocolate being bad for the complexion as she pretends to jot their orders down on her notepad. In this case, it's more to avoid eye contact with the trolls.

"Dumbasses, you can't drink that shit before we work out," the short one laughs. "Or you're gonna have to shit it right out." The three of them erupt into guffaws of laughter and Katniss taps her foot impatiently.

"And for you?" She directs the question at the short guy.

"Fuck it, I'll have a milkshake too. Strawberry."

She spins on her heel and leaves the three heathens behind to go prepare the milkshakes.

Katniss hates milkshakes. The machine is so old and decrepit that she's sure it's going to explode into a fiery inferno each time she uses it. Plus the fact that the assholes couldn't have all ordered the same flavor will force her to have to clean down the machine before making the strawberry one. Cray's stinginess means one machine only.

"This is all your fault," she hisses to Johanna through clenched teeth as her friend approaches with a stack of empty plates. She smacks the side of the machine as it coughs and sputters. Johanna laughs.

"I just got a twenty-dollar tip on a seventy-dollar check," she crows softly. Katniss shoots her a nasty look over her shoulder and Johanna grins gleefully.

"First round is on me when you finally take that stick out of your ass and come drinking with me!" She winks and struts off to her station.

Katniss finally finishes the shakes, tops them with whipped cream and drops a cherry onto each. She loads them onto a tray and deposits them without a word. She has other tables that will cause her less hassle than the frat guys will and she doesn't care if they take it out on her tip, if the tools will even _leave _her a tip at all.

"Fucking took long enough," the guy with the acne calls after her. She ignores him.

Her other current tables, as it turns out, do little to elevate her mood. There is a complaint at Table Eight about cold eggs and one at Table Six about overdone bacon, and a little girl in the back booth will not stop wailing that her brother got more whipped cream on his hot chocolate than hers.

She reluctantly heads back to the booth of Neanderthals and waits impatiently for them to acknowledge her and give their orders. They are unexpectedly quiet, three pairs of eyes all fixed on their phones, fingers swiping and tapping screens.

"Have you decided?" she asks, her voice clipped as her annoyance rises again. None of the guys looks up immediately, but eventually the tall one glances up and gives her a nasty grin.

"We're gonna need new milkshakes, babe." He pushes the half-empty glass into the center of the table and nods at his friends to do the same. The short guy's glass is nearly empty.

"And what's wrong with the ones I gave you?" She grits her teeth and counts to ten again.

"They tasted funny," Pimple-Face smirks.

"You seemed to enjoy yours just fine." She narrows her eyes and tosses her braid over her shoulder. "If you get new milkshakes, you're paying for new milkshakes. Now if you're not gonna order something to eat, I have other tables to tend to." She waits for several moments and when none of them speak up, she turns to leave the booth.

Strong fingers clamp around her forearm, digging forcefully into the tender skin there. The tall guy glowers at her menacingly.

"I don't like the way you're treating us, bitch."

"Get your hands off me," she warns, but his grip tightens.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you the customer is always right?" he repeats the words that Pimple-Face used earlier.

"Not this time," she snaps, bringing her free hand up to wrap around his fingers, which are still encircling her arm. "I'll tell you one last time, let go of me." She enunciates each word calmly but firmly.

His eyes glint maliciously and he digs his fingers further into her flesh. "I want to speak to your manager."

Katniss may be slight, but she knows she is stronger than she looks. With one fluid motion, she grabs his middle finger and peels it off her arm, wrenching it backwards as hard as she can.

If the rest of the diner wasn't already staring at the commotion unfolding in her section, the ear-splitting yowl of pain that bursts from the tall guy effectively turns every head in their direction. He releases Katniss and slumps over, clutching his hand to his broad chest, continuing to howl.

"She broke my finger! She fucking broke my finger!"

Murmurs and hushed whispers drone around the diner in a feverish buzz; chairs scrape and a few patrons rise or crane their necks to get a glimpse of the scene.

Katniss steps back and examines the skin of her forearm. Bright red patches are visible where the guy's fingers burrowed into her skin, and she knows they will fade to angry purple bruises within hours.

Cray storms over, his creased face flushed with anger. "What is going on over here, Everdeen?"

"This stupid fucking bitch broke my finger!" He thrusts his middle finger upward, and Katniss has to look away and take her lower lip between her teeth to stifle a grin. Her temporary satisfaction dissipates instantaneously when Cray explodes on her.

"Did you touch a customer? Did you!?" he yells.

Katniss thrusts her chin up and steels her eyes on her boss. "He touched me first. He grabbed my arm and he wouldn't let go."

"I should press charges," the guy growls, waving his gnarled finger in the air. Katniss can see that it has swollen to nearly twice the size of the other digits on his hand, and it's bent at an unseemly angle.

"There will be no need for that, sir." Cray's tone changes automatically to falsely-sycophantic drawl. "I will see to it personally that your medical expenses come out of Miss Everdeen's paycheck. Her last one." He turns and scowls at her. "You're fired. Get out of my diner."

Katniss's heart hammers in her chest. She has never been fired before. And she needs this job, as much as she hates it.

But she knows it's futile to argue with Cray; his mantra had already been thrown in her face twice: the customer is always right. And she's incensed that he plans to hold her accountable for the douchebag's injury; she has just as much of an assault case against him for grabbing her.

"Are you out of your mind, old man?" Johanna is suddenly beside the booth too, hazel eyes flashing fire. "Did you not hear these assholes harassing her?"

"Get back to work, Mason, or you can join her on the unemployment line!" Cray barks.

"It'll be okay, Jo," Katniss whispers as she begins to untie her apron and stalks away from the booth. She cuts her eyes back to watch Cray groveling and negotiating with the injured guy and his friends.

"Shit, Brainless, I can't believe you broke that dude's finger. Like it was nothing!" Johanna sounds almost proud of her, and Katniss gives her friend a wan smile.

"Well it was something. I told him to let go. Nobody fucks with me," she replies brusquely. She tosses the apron on the counter and cashes out her morning's receipts. She is aware of Johanna watching her carefully as she logs off the register for the last time.

"I'll call you as soon as my shift ends," Johanna promises, reaching over to squeeze her hand. Katniss squeezes back before straightening her spine and squaring her shoulders and marching out of the diner, extending her own middle finger in a flourish at Cray as the door swings closed behind her.

* * *

Three hours later, Katniss lounges on a bench in the park, watching the ducks waddle by and splash into the wide pond that dominates the eastern quadrant of the green. A brisk breeze kicks up, ruffling the pond's glassy surface. The day has grown gloomy and overcast, and the bruised sky swells with teeming clouds that threaten to rupture at any given moment. She has no umbrella, no coat, but if it rains, so be it, she decides. She takes a sip of a tepid latte that was hot when she first bought it, drumming her fingers against the lid when she lowers it from her mouth and holds it in her lap.

The extent of what transpired at Cray's that morning is beginning to settle over her, and while she does not regret standing up for herself, she starts to panic at the thought of combing the classifieds for a new job. Interviews and faux pleasantries have never really suited her.

Her cell phone vibrates, and she realizes she never took it off the silent setting after leaving work. She flicks the switch and it chirps an audible ping as she retrieves the incoming text message. Katniss groans inwardly as her eyes sweep across the screen.

_Cato: Hey babe. U off work yet?_

It's the word 'babe' that sets her off.

It's been slightly over three months that Katniss has been dating Cato Harrison. And it's been just under two months since she realized the how little she has in common with the brutish ex-jock (the guy talks more about his old glory days on the football field than he does about his actual job as a Phys Ed teacher), but she hasn't had the patience or the energy to deal with a breakup so she's allowed the guy to hang around longer than she knows she should have.

Now, being fired seems to bring some sort of imminent clarity to her life: she doesn't need to settle. Cato is just a slightly older incarnation of the dicks from the diner.

And she doesn't have the time to waste on this jerk anymore. Might as well make another clean break.

The right job is out there. The right guy is out there. She just hasn't found either yet.

With a renewed sense of purpose, she picks up her cell phone and types back a terse message to Cato.

_Katniss: We need to talk. Drinks tonight at my uncle's?_

Barely ten seconds pass before his answer pops up.

_Cato: Aight. C u around 8? That good?_

He texts like a frat boy, she laments, firing off her own quick reply.

_Katniss: Yes, 8 is fine. See you then._

Katniss prefers to break up with men at her uncle's bar. No one has ever dared challenge her with Uncle Haymitch shooting them daggers from beside a wall of antique muskets and hatchets. (Haymitch swears its rustic ambience, but Katniss has always suspected it's a sneaky way to always have weapons at his disposal.) Not that Katniss has had many suitors to dump; Cato is only her third serious relationship since Gale.

Katniss often wonders if her life would be much different if she had stayed with Gale Hawthorne when he went off to the Capitol to complete his internship.

She and Gale had been friends since she could walk; their parents had practically been joined at the hip while they were growing up. The Hawthornes and Everdeens spent summer vacations at the Hawthornes' lake house once Gale's eccentric uncle Flavius died and bequeathed the property to his favorite (and only) brother. They often spent holidays in each other's company too.

She knew Gale wanted more than friendship once they reached their teenage years. But when he confessed his feelings and hinted they could make a relationship work if she felt the same way, it fell on deaf ears, mostly due to poor timing. Katniss's mother was in rehab for the third time at that point, and Katniss continually reconciled her mother's self-destructive behavior with one simple catalyst: the loss of her father. Tressa Everdeen had just loved her husband too much.

Katniss never wanted to feel such an all-encompassing need for someone, a love so intense that to have it ripped away left nothing but a hollow shell of the one unlucky enough to outlive the other. She and Gale were already such good friends that she feared it could quickly escalate to that scary kind of love if she let him into her heart.

She loved Gale. She just didn't want to be _in love_ with Gale.

Katniss always suspected people had assumed she and Gale were a couple. And she was fine with that assumption, actually, because it unofficially declared her off-limits to any guys who might try and pursue her.

Gale was two years ahead of her in school, so it happened that when he graduated and he suddenly wasn't by her side day in and day out, she began to wonder if she hadn't made a mistake by not seeing if there wasn't something more there.

The Hawthornes couldn't afford to send Gale to the out-of-state school near the Capitol that he desperately wanted to attend, but they managed to scrape together enough to send him to a decent state school. It still meant Katniss only saw him on holidays.

That first Thanksgiving he came home on break, they had been intertwined on the couch at Katniss's uncle's house when she nervously pressed her lips against his for the first time. Gale had been surprised, to say the least, but he responded eagerly and Katniss hesitantly agreed to give a relationship a try.

She knew that because theirs was largely a long-distance relationship, it put her more at ease; keeping Gale at arm's length was effortless when he was a few hundred miles away most of the time. Besides, it was _Gale_, and she was so comfortable around him it made all those firsts easier to navigate.

The first that actually was the most difficult to forge was their breakup.

Things had changed between them from the moment Gale started talking of marriage and the future.

That was something she was wholly _un_comfortable with, Gale or not.

It was a nice enough idea on paper, in theory. But as with so many other ideas on paper, it was complete fiction.

Marriage didn't last forever. Even the most perfect unions, like that of her parents, could be shattered like broken glass. Her father's death had ruined her mother; it destroyed the happy home they had built and Katniss and Prim had been effectively orphaned the day he had dropped dead.

She knew scores of classmates with divorced parents, some with twice- and thrice-divorced parents.

Marriage just seemed like a terrible idea.

But if Gale was determined to pursue the white-picket fence, the barefoot wife and the two-point-five children, far be it from her to deny him that. It just wasn't going to be with her.

She had dumped him the day after Christmas four years ago. Again, the distance made things easier; she missed him at first, of course, but it wasn't much different than when they _were_ dating and she didn't see him for long stretches of time. It also aided his avoidance of her. Phone calls and text messages went unanswered; it took six months for him to even speak to her. She mourned the loss of their friendship, but it has finally been rebuilt, like a precariously reassembled house of cards.

Her phone rings, jolting her out of her reverie. She glances down.

"Hey, Jo," she sighs as she answers the call.

"What the fuck, Brainless? I mean, holy shit. I knew you could be a tough chick, but breaking a guy's finger? Fuck!"

Katniss issues another sigh and stands from the bench. She doesn't know why she feels better pacing when she talks, but it's an odd habit she's never been able to break. She begins to meander around in circles as she starts to explain her thinking to Johanna.

"I don't know what came over me, Jo. I've dealt with plenty of rude customers before. I've never lost my cool like that."

"No shit! I mean, there's no way you thought that through. If Cray hadn't kissed that dick's ass so much before the guys finally left, he might have pressed charges against you."

"I know, Jo, I know," she groans. That would be the last thing she could afford to deal with at the moment, both emotionally and financially.

"Well, there's something to be said for standing up for yourself, Everdeen. I'm kind of impressed," Jo laughs. "Anyway, you had a visitor not long after Cray threw your ass out."

"A visitor?" Katniss furrows her brow and stops her pacing. She nearly steps on a squirrel that scampers across the bike path on which she's been treading and scurries up a nearby tree.

"Tall, blond and handsome from yesterday morning? The one you were supposed to tell me about when you backed out of drinks again last night?"

Katniss swallows and feels a knot twist in her stomach. Peeta. Johanna means Peeta Mellark. He had come back to see her. She had forgotten all about him in the turmoil of her morning.

She is mildly irritated by the little spiral of excitement that coils through her and then further annoyed by the frisson of disappointment that slithers down her spine that she was not there to see him.

_Get it together, Everdeen, _she warns herself.

"You mean Peeta?" she replies nonchalantly. At least, she hopes it sounds nonchalant.

"Yeah, Golden Boy."

Katniss rolls her eyes at Johanna's penchant for stupid nicknames, as perfectly fitting as it actually is.

"What did he want?"

"He came to say he left his wife because he's been waiting for you for years. Said something about getting you alone and fucking you senseless." Johanna chuckles her familiar sardonic laugh, but Katniss isn't laughing. Her friend's joking insinuation sends another thrill coursing through her veins, as ludicrous as it is.

"That's not funny, Jo," she says harshly.

"Relax, Brainless. It was a joke. He just said he needed to see you. I didn't pry any further. None of my business."

"Right," Katniss retorts. Johanna has never been one for subtlety or staying out of things that don't concern her.

"Don't act so surprised. He asked for your number, so I gave it to him."

"You did what?!" Katniss croaks, a cross between a gasp and a cough trapped in her throat.

"Relax. He was pretty persistent. Said he really needed to see you, and I told him that would have to be up to you, and you no longer worked at Cray's. So if he really needs to talk to you, he'll reach out. I mean, what the fuck else was I supposed to say? Would you have rather I'd given him your address?"

She sighs and resumes her measured walking alongside the bike path. She knows Johanna probably was caught off-guard having to explain Katniss's abrupt absence.

"Did you tell him I got fired?" she asks quietly. The embarrassment she felt waiting on him and his friend yesterday was bad, but Peeta knowing she couldn't even keep such a pathetic job would be downright humiliating.

"No. I told you, I said you no longer worked there. And when he asked why I said that he'd have to ask you himself."

She considers their parting conversation. Peeta Mellark was always too good to be true, and Katniss assumes that he was just trying to keep his promise to return with a tip for her. Either that or he was extending the offer to have dinner at his restaurant.

Katniss never gives pause to consider the lottery ticket.

"It's okay, Jo," she replies. "Thanks for looking out for me. I guess I'll wait and see if he calls. It's probably about the tip he didn't leave me yesterday."

"He came all the way back to Cray's dump to give you a tip?"

"Yeah. He had forgotten his wallet. I covered his check, but he insisted on giving me a tip." God, it sounds even sillier when she says it aloud. "Listen, we'll go out tomorrow night, okay. Promise. I've got business to take care of tonight."

"Don't wear out the batteries," Jo cracks.

"I'm breaking it off with Cato tonight."

"Fuck yes! That's the best excuse you've given me for not going out in weeks!"

"I'm glad you approve," she replies dryly.

"That douchenozzle has overstayed his welcome in Chez Everdeen."

"He never made it past the front door."

"Wait a minute! Back the fuck up. You kept that dickhead around for this long and you never at least gave him a test ride? What the fuck else was he good for?"

"Goodbye Jo. I'll talk to you tomorrow." She ends the call before her friend can utter a protest and demand more details about Katniss's sex life, or the lack thereof.

She shoves her phone in her purse and begins the long walk back to her apartment, trying in vain not to think about Peeta Mellark.

* * *

Katniss opens her eyes groggily, squints at the clock above the television and when she can't make out the time in her sleep-induced haze, she picks up her phone from the end table. The stark white digits set against the black screen affirm that for the second time that day, Katniss is late.

8:04.

After arriving home that afternoon, she had changed out of her uniform and thrown on sweats, lying down to take what she had intended to be a quick nap before going for a run and having time for a shower before meeting Cato. She hadn't planned on sleeping for four hours.

"Shit!" she curses, stumbling to her feet and running her tongue over her teeth. She grabs for her phone and contemplates calling Cato to tell him she's running behind. But then she thinks twice and frowns. Instead, her thumbs rapidly tap the keys and type out a text message to her uncle.

_Katniss: Running late. Tell Prince Charming I'll be there soon. Do not let him get drunk before I get there. I mean it. _

She rushes to the bathroom and in spite of the fact she is not planning on any mouth-to-mouth contact this evening, she begins to brush her teeth. Her phone chirps and she glances down at the counter where she set it.

_Haymitch: hes on his second irish car bomb will try to stall him_

"Fuck," she hisses as she spits the toothpaste into the sink and swishes water around in her mouth. She knows Cato has a relatively high tolerance for alcohol, but he's not usually consuming shots on the occasions she has been out with him.

She gives her reflection a quick once-over, wrinkles her nose and decides there is little point to trying to look glamorous for a breakup. She touches up her already-simple makeup, applies some nude lip gloss and drags a brush through her hair.

Grabbing a pair of jeans from the floor, she tugs them up and over her hips. She could really care less if they are clean or not. She scans her closet for a shirt, plucking a sage-green tee from its hanger and slipping it over her head. She locates her flats near the closet door and slides her feet into them.

_You deserve better. This is the right thing to do, _Katniss reminds herself as she throws her purse over her shoulder and closes the apartment door behind her, locking it securely before making quick work of the few-blocks walk to Haymitch's bar.

She pushes the door to the pub, the loud strains of some 80s power ballad pulsing from the vintage jukebox Haymitch loves so much. Katniss has pleaded with him to update the music selection, but her uncle stubbornly refuses. His clientele (and Katniss always manages to snort with disdain at such a word in regards to the crowd that favors Abernathy's) prefers the Eagles and ELO and Journey.

She spies Cato sitting at the far end of the bar, seemingly glued to the flat-screen television suspended from the ceiling.

Haymitch catches her eye and mimes throwing back a shot. Katniss narrows her eyes as she approaches Cato's stool.

"Hey," she says. He doesn't move.

"Hey," she tries again, louder. He pivots on the stool and cranes his neck over his shoulder, but she swears he keeps one eye trained on the TV.

"Hey!" he replies, a little too loudly, she thinks, and she glances at the empty shot glass in front of him. She cuts her eyes towards Haymitch, who flashes her four fingers. She shakes her head, uncertain whether his count means 'four total shots' or 'four more' since the two she already knows about, bringing his grand total to six.

He moves to kiss her, and she ducks her head, taking a step backward. His blue eyes turn cold and he sneers at her.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? That's not a very nice way to greet your boyfriend."

_You're not my boyfriend._ "You've been drinking."

"No shit," he slurs. "I'm in a bar."

"It's a school night," she adds, ignoring his petulant remark.

"You're not my mother. I'll just call out sick tomorrow."

_Well, this is off to an auspicious start,_ she frowns. _He's only making this easier._

"Let's go sit at a table," she suggests. He shrugs and stumbles to his feet. She leads him to a booth along the front wall, careful to choose one that is in the line of Haymitch's vision. Not that she can't take care of herself, but when Cato drinks, as she is already all-too-familiar, he gets mean. Haymitch has a zero tolerance policy for nasty drunks.

"Did you have a bad day?" she asks softly, wondering if there is another reason for his foul mood.

"Not really."

_You're about to,_ she thinks, fingers playing with the beverage napkin, shredding it into tiny squares.

"I did," she sighs. "I got fired this morning."

"I'm thinking we should take a trip. You wanna go away with me? Like one of those all-inclusive places? Antigua or Barbados or some shit like that?"

She stares at him, incredulous.

"I tell you I got fired this morning and that's your response?"

"You have the time off now," he laughs.

She glares at him, thoroughly disgusted. And to think she was going to try to let him down gently.

"Actually, Cato, this isn't working."

"Huh?"

Katniss has always found Cato attractive. She can't say she is attracted to him, but he is good-looking. His features are hard but chiseled, and he is in incredibly good shape.

But at the moment, she is struck by how ugly he is. The expression on his face is blank, confused, and he almost appears indifferent.

"This isn't working," she repeats. "I don't think we should see each other anymore."

"What the fuck? Why not?"

"We have nothing in common, Cato," she hedges. "And I just can't see myself in any kind of future with you-"

"Future? Fuck, I'm not looking to marry you, Katniss. I'm just looking for a good time."

"Well, then you're looking in the wrong place."

She watches his face change from its usual ruddy hue (she knows he frequents the tanning beds at the local salon) to an angry, flushed red.

"I fucking like you, Katniss. I don't just wait around for girls that don't put out by the third date. You know how many chicks I coulda fucked in the time we've been together?" His voice is low and menacing, and Katniss notices a vein throbbing erratically beside his right eye.

"Well, I'm sure you won't have any trouble rebounding then," she replies quietly.

"You're a real bitch, you know that?" he hisses.

"I think we're done here. Goodbye, Cato." She starts to rise from the bench when she feels strong fingers wrap around her right forearm.

A surge of adrenaline courses through her.

"Unless you want me to break your finger like I did to the guy this morning that got me fired, you'll let go of me right now."

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Haymitch flinch and start to move from behind the bar. Cato lurches to his feet and glowers down at her, releasing her arm with an exaggerated push.

"You'll regret this," he snarls.

"I doubt it." She crosses her arms across her chest and purses her lips.

He opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but nothing comes out.

It's at that moment her phone pings, alerting her to a text message. Before she can even make a move to retrieve it, Cato yanks the purse from its spot on the booth's bench and begins frantically searching for the phone.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she yells, lunging for the purse. He holds up the phone triumphantly and flips it open. His face contorts and he throws it to the floor violently.

"Stupid bitch. If you're going to fucking cheat on me, you could have made it less obvious by putting the dick's name into your phone."

And with that, he brings his foot down hard on the device with a sickening crunch before stalking out of the bar.

Katniss inhales sharply, leaning down to pick up the mangled remains of her phone. She is surprised she is keeping her own anger in check as she stares at the cracked screen, its face a distorted blur of numbers and letters that she now has no way of reading.

* * *

_A/N: Chapter 4 is back to Peeta's point-of-view._

_Thank you for reading; I welcome your thoughts on this chapter!_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note: **_Thank you for your enthusiastic response to this story and all your reviews for Chapter 3. I appreciate the follows and _favorites as well.__  
_

This chapter is Peeta's point-of-view of the same day in Chapter 3.

Thanks to jeeno2 and ILoveRynMar for always being there to read my rantings and calm me down.

* * *

_(Peeta)_

Peeta's Wednesday morning begins exactly as most of his other mornings do. The alarm sounds at 5:30; he hits the snooze button exactly once, and the second time the bleating buzz interrupts his dozing, he smacks it and rises from the bed. Glimmer barely stirs, her black satin eye mask firmly in place.

He pulls on his gym shorts and a t-shirt, locates a pair of clean sweat socks, laces up his running shoes and makes his way through the darkened house, letting himself out the front door, hearing the lock click behind him. He pauses on the driveway and bends down to grab his foot, pulling his leg up to stretch his quad muscles. After repeating the process with his other leg, he does a few quick lunges before he sets off up the street, the rhythmic slap of his sneakers on the pavement the only sound in the early dawn, save for a few sporadic chirps of the early-rising birds.

Of course, there is a marked difference to this morning. It's not every morning one wakes up a millionaire.

At least, he assumes he—_no, they—_are millionaires. He has yet to hear how many winning tickets hit, but he knows there is at least one locked in the safe of his home office. He also assumes even if there are multiple winning tickets, the sheer size of last night's jackpot means a decent haul regardless.

It all still seems a little surreal, he thinks, as he turns the corner and increases his pace slightly.

He and Glimmer had very different reactions when it became apparent that the numbers on their ticket indeed matched those on the screen.

Glimmer's high-pitched, elated squeals of joy could have shattered the Waterford crystal tumblers on the wet bar. She bounced around the room like a gleeful toddler, happier than Peeta had seen her in weeks. She had immediately reached for her phone and screeched that she had to call Clove.

Peeta put a stop to that right away.

It was not an easy task to calm Glimmer down or to convince her why shouting this news to the world—which is what would have been accomplished if she told Clove Snow—is not imminently a good thing. Fortunately, Peeta has always been level-headed, logical, and able to keep himself calm and collected under pressure—the exact opposite of his wife. After much persuasion, he managed to explain to Glimmer why this should stay between them for the moment. She pouted but reluctantly agreed.

He did not mention Katniss Everdeen or the promise he made her. He simply locked the ticket in the vault and encouraged Glimmer to come to bed. In spite of her feverish excitement, she rebuffed his advances again when he suggested celebrating and positioned her eye mask into place, rolling onto her side as she turned off her bedside lamp.

Peeta had opted to stay awake, trying to lose himself in a John LeCarré spy novel, but it was futile. His mind was reeling a mile a minute, and he could not keep it from repeatedly trying to land on thoughts of Katniss Everdeen. He had given up on his book around quarter to one and lain awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to his wife's shallow breathing and occasional snores. Glimmer has long denied she is a snorer, but Peeta knows she would be appalled if he ever recorded her.

This morning, as he jogs, he finds he is still unable to keep a clear mind. The enormity of the simple, innocent offer that he made Katniss yesterday at the diner weighs on his soul like an anchor, tugging at his conscience. He never thought in a million years the ticket would win anything. The odds were astronomical. He truly thought he'd be returning to the diner, a twenty-dollar bill in hand, offering the generous tip to Katniss with an additional invitation to have dinner at Thirteen-12. He'd even planned to encourage her to bring a guest; a friend or a date, whichever she preferred because Peeta didn't have any knowledge of the status of Katniss's personal life. The lack of a wedding band on her finger told him she wasn't married, but for all he knew she could still be dating Gale Hawthorne. The guy clearly had it bad for her in high school. _Almost as badly as I did_, he thinks pathetically.

Peeta has always been a man of his word. A promise is a promise, and he does not intend to break the one he made to Katniss. A smile breaks out on his face, slowing his pace as he crests the small hill in front of the local elementary school. He thinks of how much _her_ life is going to change with the gift he is about to bestow upon her.

The smile vanishes just as quickly when he remembers this is _Katniss_ _Everdeen_. She has never been one to accept anything from anyone. He recalls her exact words to him yesterday morning after he proposed the idea for his tip: _ I don't need your charity_.

A knot forms in his stomach as he realizes that is exactly what Katniss will think the winnings are now. Charity. He hopes she doesn't fight him on splitting the ticket.

Suddenly, he is jogging around the corner of his own road, and he realizes he has been running and letting his thoughts ramble for nearly twenty minutes, the amount of time it generally takes him to make the three-point-eight mile route through his sub-division. He approaches his driveway and hunches over slightly to allow his breathing to return to its normal rate, inhaling and exhaling deeply several times. Sweat slithers down his temples, running down the sides of his cheeks in rivulets and dripping onto the pavement. He stretches again and strides up the driveway, punching in the access code on the garage keypad and slipping underneath the door as soon as it elevates sufficiently.

He needs to see Katniss, he decides as he enters the house, wondering what time the diner opens. A quick glance at the microwave clock tells him it's now quarter after six. The diner could open at six, but he knows for sure it will be open by seven. He could easily stop by under the pretense of heading to Thirteen-12 earlier than usual. There is always plenty to do at the restaurant to justify an early arrival, and with Finnick out, he reasons it's more likely that he'd need to put in a few extra hours.

The sight that greets him in the breakfast nook takes him by surprise. Glimmer is seated at the table, her MacBook open in front of her. Her hair is in a messy knot atop her head, and she is still in her pajamas, but her eyes are glued to the screen, scanning back and forth rapidly.

Glimmer is not an early riser by any means. When Peeta leaves for work, she is usually still cocooned under the covers, eye mask shielding her from the slants of sunlight peeking through the blinds, barely conscious enough to grunt a goodbye when he heads to the restaurant around nine. He knows she usually rolls out of bed around ten and heads to her Pilates class at eleven.

So to see her sitting at the table, awake and reasonably alert well before seven a.m, it's slightly jarring.

"Hey," he nods, opening the fridge to grab a water. He presses the cold bottle against his forehead briefly before twisting off the lid and taking a long swig.

"Hi," she replies absently, eyes still fixed on the screen.

"What are you doing up?"

Her eyes narrow and something close to irritation, perhaps even anger, sparks in them. "You're fucking kidding me," she hisses through clenched teeth. Peeta raises an eyebrow at her and leans against the small island counter.

"What?"

"Twenty-six winning tickets. Twenty-fucking-six winning tickets!" She pushes back the chair roughly and throws her hands up. "Just our luck!"

"Glim, what are you talking about?" He takes another sip of water and watches her pace back and forth beside the kitchen table.

"185 million dollars and there are twenty-six winning tickets!"

"How do you know that?" he asks, though he suspects she has been trolling the internet for lottery information since he left on his run. It's blatantly clear what got her out of bed this early.

"It's online. A big article. Lottery officials announce there were twenty-six tickets that hit nationally."

He shakes his head incredulously. "And you're upset about that?"

She lurches for the iPhone beside the laptop. "What's 185 divided by 26?" Her fingers quickly enter her password and Peeta sees the screen light up as Glimmer brings up the calculator. She purses her lips and her mouth tugs down in a frown as the number pops up. "Seven-point-one." The pacing begins again. "Seven-point-one." She exhales and shakes her head and mutters something indecipherable under her breath.

"You can't possibly be upset over the amount that we won," he says quietly. "That's a lot of money, Glimmer. It's actually kind of nice that so many people are going to share in it."

She rolls her eyes. "It's just my luck that the time I have a winning lottery ticket, half of America seems to have a winning lottery ticket."

He finishes the water and sets the empty bottle on the counter. "_We _were lucky to have a winning ticket. Do you know how many people held their breath last night, waiting for those numbers, only to realize their ticket was a loser again? How many people will never hold anything but a losing ticket?" He sighs and works his fingers through his damp, sweaty curls. "You can't possibly be that selfish right now."

But she doesn't hear the warning shot he fires in her direction. Her bare feet pad against the tile floor as she continues to walk back and forth. "Seven million. Seven million." She chants the two words like a mantra before turning to face him. "We can live on seven million, right?"

_We can live on less than seven million_, he thinks to himself. _Like maybe three-and-a-half million_?

He knows he should tell her and tell her now. The longer he prolongs dropping the bomb that he has promised half their winnings to another woman, the worse he fears her reaction will be. He also knows Glimmer will instantly be suspicious of the woman, and therefore he can't very well present Katniss as more than a casual acquaintance.

His loyalty should really be to his wife, however tenuous their marriage is at the moment; it's _their_ money, and she deserves to know.

But then, he's always had a weakness for Katniss Everdeen.

"Peeta?"

"Yeah, we can live on that," he replies quietly. "Most people live on far less than that, Glim."

She nods and crosses to the computer, snapping the lid closed without shutting it down. He sighs; he's reminded her time and time again she's going to damage the laptop by doing that, but she never seems to listen.

He walks towards her and slides his arms around her waist, intending to draw her in for a reassuring hug, but she makes a face and pushes him away. "Ew, you're all sweaty."

"I sweat when I run. Most people do," he says, reaching out to run his thumb along the curve of her jaw before pressing his lips lightly along the same path. "C'mon upstairs with me. Join me in the shower. You can help me get un-sweaty."

She wrinkles her nose and twists her pretty face into another mask of disgust. "I'm going back to bed." His stomach sinks and he flushes with embarrassment that she has rejected his advances yet again.

She doesn't notice, of course. As she turns and moves to leave the kitchen to head for the stairs, he calls after her. "I meant what I said last night, Glimmer." There is an edge to his voice, and he knows his frustration with her is manifesting itself in spite of his best efforts to remain composed. "Don't tell anyone we have one of the winning tickets yet. There are a lot of things that need to be considered before we go public. You understand?"

"I told you I wouldn't say a word. You don't believe me?" She leans against the doorframe between the kitchen and foyer; her posture and the gleam in her eyes seem to be challenging him to goad him into a fight.

"I believe you," he replies quietly, stalking past her to climb the stairs. He heads for the shower without another word spoken.

She is sound asleep, blinds still drawn, eye mask back in place when he finishes showering and dressing ten minutes later. He walks calmly to the windows and yanks on the cord, slanting the blinds upward and letting the early morning sunlight flood the bedroom.

* * *

It's nearly ten a.m. before Peeta finally pulls into the parking lot of Cray's Time to Eat. The foul mood that Glimmer had lifted in him before he left was only further exacerbated by the chain of events that transpired from the moment he pulled out of his driveway.

It's a fairly short drive from their house to the restaurant, but since Peeta intended to go see Katniss first, he had made a left out of his driveway rather than his usual right, heading north. The slight detour, coupled with his distracted state of mind from his interaction with his wife and the anticipation of seeing Katniss, caused him to blow right through the stop sign at the intersection.

He had completely missed it. Unfortunately for him, the cop who had been idling on the side street perpendicular to his road did not. The red and blue lights had flashed instantaneously and Peeta had cursed under his breath as he pulled to the side of the road and reached to the console for his wallet.

As he had done the previous day, he had left it at home. Strike two.

When the officer had politely asked for his license and registration, Peeta had opened the glove compartment where he kept the registration and handed it over, preparing to explain his dilemma with his license. The cop had taken one glance down at the registration card and smiled wryly, informing Peeta the registration had expired.

He vaguely recalled having asked Glimmer to mail in the registration renewal that he had filled out a few weeks earlier. Whether the registration had gotten lost in the mail or Glimmer had never sent it off, he couldn't say.

The cop was nice enough, but the whole situation earned Peeta a lovely citation and a collective fine of $1,145 for no license, no registration and running the stop sign. That stung, and Peeta could not help but note with some dry amusement how much angrier he would be if not for that other ticket in his safe.

After turning around and going back home to retrieve his license, he had shaken Glimmer awake and asked her about the missing registration. She snapped at him for disturbing her sleep and replied that she was "pretty sure" she had mailed the requested envelope. Peeta ignored her request to close the blinds, grabbed his wallet off his dresser and went back downstairs.

The household finances are Peeta's responsibility. He isn't even sure if Glimmer knows how to pay a bill or check their account balances; she is however good at spending money. But typically when he gives Glimmer even a menial task, she manages to complete it without incidence.

He had spent nearly an hour tearing apart his office looking for any sign of the registration renewal, and it was well after eight-thirty by the time he found it, buried beneath a stack of resumes he had brought home the other night from which to cull candidates for Annie's maternity leave. Seething, he jammed the envelope in the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket and grabbed the resumes.

A thoroughly infuriating hour at the Motor Vehicles Commission had followed. He had finally managed to persuade the nasty teller to issue him a temporary registration, though she steadfastly refused to take the renewal envelope and mail it for him.

He locks his car and walks towards the diner's front doors. The thought of seeing Katniss lifts his spirits considerably as he steps inside, eyes scanning the crowded diner for her familiar braid and slim figure.

"Help you?" The grizzled old man peers at him over the rim of his glasses, scowl on his creased face.

"Ah, yeah, I'm actually looking for one of your waitresses."

"My girls aren't here to socialize, they're here to work. Have a seat or you can wait til she gets off later."

"Um, okay," he replies uncertainly, taken aback by Cray's rudeness. He feels sorry for Katniss having to work for and answer to this asshole. "Could I be seated in Katniss's section, then, please?"

Cray lets out a ragged bark of a laugh and his eyes twinkle almost cruelly. "Katniss don't work here anymore."

Peeta allows the news to sink in, his mind racing. _How? Why?_ She certainly worked here yesterday. Had she seen the numbers? He wonders if it's possible that she sat in front of her own television last night, his business card between her slender fingers, studying the numbers he had written there for her. The timing is suspicious, to say the least.

"You looking for Katniss?"

He turns to his left and sees the same petite woman with the spiky brown hair that he had observed Katniss chatting with yesterday while he and Finnick had waited to place their orders.

"Yes, actually, I am," he smiles at the girl, and she gives him a pointed look.

"She doesn't work here anymore."

"So he said," Peeta replies, nodding at the owner, who has turned his attention back to his Sudoku puzzle but is obviously watching their exchange not-so-discreetly. "What happened? Did she quit?"

"You'd have to ask Katniss yourself," the girl shrugs.

"Listen…" he trails off.

"Johanna," she supplies impatiently.

"Johanna," he smiles winsomely. He knows he can be charming when he has to, and right now, he needs information.

This girl doesn't appear to be buying it though. She eyes him dubiously.

"Mason, get back to work," Cray snaps.

"If you have an open table, I'll sit. I'll order a cup of coffee so we can talk. It will just take a minute of your time. I promise."

Her eyes look him up and down, scrutinizing him, her face contemplative. "Cray, I'm seating Table Fourteen," she announces, jerking her head to indicate to Peeta that he should follow her. "You bring money today?" she smirks over her shoulder.

Peeta reddens slightly. "She told you about that, huh?"

"It's why you're here, isn't it. You told her you'd come back." She sweeps her arm to the two-person booth in a mocking gesture and Peeta takes a seat. "I'll go grab you coffee."

Peeta doesn't even drink coffee that often, but he's acquired a daily need for caffeine being in the restaurant business. He and Finnick often grab something stronger in the morning, lattes or espressos, but he sincerely doubts an establishment like Cray's has anything more than brewed black coffee. He considers stopping Johanna and asking for tea, but he thinks better on it.

She's back within a few moments with an urn of coffee that issues a steady stream of steam from the spout. "Fresh for you, Blondie."

He reaches for one creamer. "Thanks," he says, stirring the ribbon of white into the dark liquid.

"So you want me to give Katniss a message or something?"

"I actually need to talk to her."

"If this is about her tip, Blondie, I think she'll live without a couple of extra dollars. Katniss isn't a big fan of handouts, even if this one was an earned handout."

"It's, uh, a little more than that," he replies, taking a sip of the coffee. It's bitter this morning, and he grabs a sugar, even though he usually doesn't take it in his coffee or his tea. "Do you know how I can get in touch with her?"

Johanna narrows her hazel eyes at him. "I don't know anything about you other than you went to high school with Katniss and you've got some fancy restaurant. For all I know you could be some kind of serial killer. You expect me to give you her personal information? You think she'd want me to do that?"

"It's pretty important that I speak with her, Johanna. Please."

She sighs and rips a piece of paper off her notepad, her left hand scrawling across the page quickly before thrusting the paper at him. "This is her cell phone number. Don't make me regret it. I know you're married. You better not be fucking with her."

He's stunned by her blunt accusation. He licks his dry lips and swallows, trying not to think about what she is implying. "I'm not interested in Katniss that way," he says softly, leaving the still-full coffee cup on the table and rising to stand. He pulls his billfold from his pocket and removes a ten-dollar bill. "Like I said, I just need to speak with her. Thanks for the number. I promise you won't regret it." He lays the bill on the table and gives her a polite smile as he strides towards the front of the diner and listens to the bell jingle his departure as the door swings shut behind him as he heads to his restaurant.

He accomplishes a lot at work before they open for lunch at 11:30, though not as much as he would have had he gotten in as early as he had hoped to. He gets the schedule created for next week, narrows down Annie's temporary replacement down to three candidates—one of whom, Lavinia, already works as a hostess in the evenings—and begins entering payroll into the books. Finnick is generally the business end of things; he has a degree in finance and a minor in business management, so when Peeta had the idea for Thirteen-12, Finnick jumped at the chance to go in with him.

When Peeta's grandfather had passed away eight years ago, the Mellark family learned at the reading of his will that the old man had set up trusts for all three of his grandsons. He had invested well over the years and lived moderately, thus giving Peeta and his brothers a sizeable inheritance on each one's twenty-first birthday. Grant was already 22 at that point, and he used a large portion of his money for a lavish engagement ring for Charys, a ridiculously ostentatious wedding (their mother still complains it was the bride's parents' responsibility to foot the bill, not Grant's) and a two-week honeymoon in Fiji. They used the rest as a down payment on a house. As far as Peeta knows, Kiernan has yet to touch his.

And Peeta happily put his towards a restaurant and secured a small loan for the remaining capital needed. He proposed the idea to Finnick, who eagerly agreed to enter a partnership. Finnick was actually the one who found the building for lease and commissioned the interior decorator.

Thirteen-12 has been thriving in recent months, and it's a daunting task that Peeta will be without his best friend for the next few weeks while he enjoys his paternity leave. He already hasn't been in the kitchen nearly as much as he would like to be. Cooking is still his first passion and why he dreamed of opening a restaurant of his own in the first place.

The day goes by rapidly. The lunch rush carries well into early afternoon, and before Peeta realizes it, his night shift employees begin trickling in. He manages to get into the kitchen for a bit, putting the finishing touches on the soup he created for the evening's menu, a creamy artichoke and parmesan soup with shallots and garlic.

A little after seven o'clock, he finally locks his and Finnick's office, sticking his head into the smaller office set aside for the assistant managers-they have two-to bid farewell to Thom, who will close the restaurant down tonight.

Sliding into the driver seat of his G37, he revs the engine to life and sits motionless for a few minutes. Reaching into the breast pocket of his dress shirt, he studies the tight, cramped handwriting and begins to memorize Katniss's cell phone number.

He sighs and rubs at his eyes with his palms, lowering the sun visor as he backs out of his parking space behind the restaurant and guides the car down the narrow alley that leads to the main road. He is irritated that he was not able to speak with Katniss before having to face Glimmer. They are going to have to come forward and claim their share of the lotto winnings, and Glimmer won't be able to keep her mouth shut for long, no matter how vociferous she was about her own promise. Things have a tendency to slip her mind, especially where money is concerned.

He cringes to think how she is going to react when she realizes that the seven million dollars she pouted over that morning is actually half that amount. He envisions a lot of screaming and perhaps a few things thrown in his direction.

On a whim, he presses the phone button on his steering wheel and the blue-tooth device's familiar click alerts him that the call is connecting. It rings several times before she picks up.

He proposes meeting for dinner at Origins; its not one of his favorite places—there are far better restaurants within a thirty-mile radius—but Glimmer loves to be seen there, and he has the furtive hope that if he plies her with Asian Pear Mojitos and coconut curry shrimp, it might lessen the blow that he is giving away half their winnings. It's also a very quiet, very zen type of restaurant, and he thinks even Glimmer will have to restrain herself no matter how angry she gets to avoid causing a scene. He knows how concerned his wife is with appearances, and he hopes to use that to his advantage.

Her squeal pierces the car's speakers and after she tells him she will see him in an hour, the call disconnects before he can voice a protest to meet sooner.

Unsure of how to kill sixty minutes-Origins is just around the corner from Thirteen-12-he circles the block for a few rounds before finding an open meter, where he proceeds to park his car. He heads into the restaurant and finds a seat at the bar, ordering a Stella when he doesn't find any other acceptable beers on tap. He nurses the pint for the better part of the hour, periodically checking his iPhone for basketball scores and reading his email.

Glimmer still hasn't arrived at half past eight, and so he orders another beer and opens the news app on his phone. The third article down proclaims multiple winners in the PowerBall lotto drawing from last night. His fingers wander to his shirt pocket again, unfolding the crease of paper that bears Katniss's phone number. His other hand drums on the bar as he contemplates calling her.

Deciding it might be more appropriate to text her and put the ball in her court, he types out a message, deletes it, types a second message and rereads it twice.

_Peeta: Hey its Peeta. Was hoping we could meet up soon to talk. Stopped by Crays this am to see you but your friend Johanna said you didnt work there anymore. Hope everythings ok. _

He skims the message a third time and taps the screen to insert his last name after the 'Peeta.' Not that she would know any other Peetas; he just reasons that it sounds more business-like to have his full name there. And then he rethinks it and takes it out.

He hits send.

"There you are," Glimmer's voice purrs in his ear. She's already acting differently, he notes wryly upon hearing her seductive tone. He quickly slips his phone into his pocket, crumpling up the paper and tossing it near his empty pint glass.

"Hey." He turns on his chair and gives his wife a terse smile. She's clearly spent the last ninety minutes primping; she looks as if she is ready for a night on the town rather than a quiet dinner at an upscale restaurant. He settles his bill at the bar and brushes a quick kiss to Glimmer's cheek. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks," she smiles haughtily and raises her chin. "Is our table ready?"

"It was probably ready thirty minutes ago," he replies. "I told them eight o'clock."

Her blue eyes flash darkly. "Is that your passive-aggressive way of telling me I'm late?"

Peeta heaves a sigh and threads his fingers through her right hand as they near the hostess. So much for a new and improved Glimmer. "Don't start with me, Glim. This is supposed to be a nice evening out."

"You started it," she hisses almost inaudibly, but he hears the accusation nonetheless.

The pretty young hostess escorts them to a very private table in the rear corner of the restaurant, and Peeta holds the chair out for Glimmer, who settles herself in the seat and immediately reaches for her purse, where her iPhone has emitted a loud ping.

"No phones tonight, Glimmer," he pleads, sliding into his own chair and giving the hostess a smile when she hands him the menu.

"But it's probably Clove," she whines. "She wants to do a different class at the gym tomorrow. I have to answer her."

"You can answer her later. I think she'll be fine. We need to talk about the money."

Glimmer's eyes light up. "I know I promised you that I wouldn't talk about it, Peeta," she begins, unfolding her napkin into her lap, "but when my mother called today-"

"You told your mother?" He wishes he could say he is surprised that she couldn't keep her mouth shut in spite of his repeated requests to stay quiet. But he supposes he can't be too upset with Glimmer for confiding in her mother. The two women are very close, Glimmer being an only child, and there is virtually nothing his wife doesn't tell his mother-in-law.

"I had to," she sniffs, eyes cast down at her menu. "I can't keep something like that from her."

He nods and lets it go, studying his own menu; nothing sounds appealing tonight, and his stomach is queasy and unsettled, no doubt as a result of what he will tell his wife momentarily.

Their waiter arrives to take their drink order and share the night's specials. As Peeta predicted, Glimmer orders an Asian Pear Mojito, and he knows it will be the first of several. He declines another drink, opting to stick with water for the duration of the evening. As much as he wants to numb himself with alcohol, he needs a clear head now.

"Mother said we should consult a lawyer before we do anything else."

"That's probably a wise idea," he agrees. "There are a number of things we are going to need to think about, Glim. We'll have to decide if we want to take the lump sum payment or if we want the annual payments, for starters."

"We do whichever gets us the bigger payout, duh," she laughs. He shakes his head as a warning as he sees their waiter approaching with Glimmer's drink, hoping she understands to stop talking about the money until they've placed their dinner orders and they are alone again. Fortunately, she takes the hint and once the waiter departs the table again, Peeta inhales deeply and braces himself for the revelation.

"So, Glimmer," he starts, his pulse quickening and his stomach somersaulting, "there's something I need to tell you about the money." He reaches for her hand and lightly caresses the back of it with his thumb. There is suspicion in her kohl-lined blue eyes, but she doesn't say anything.

"You see, ah, I kind of made a promise to someone and it has to do with our lottery ticket."

Her eyes narrow.

"I was at breakfast with Finnick yesterday morning and I kind of had forgotten my wallet. And I really don't know what possessed me to do this, but I made the waitress an offer." He pauses, searching his wife's face for any reaction, however miniscule. She gives him nothing. "I told the waitress that I would share whatever the lottery ticket won with her."

As the words leave Peeta's mouth, he watches the indignation mount in Glimmer's eyes and her mouth twist into an oval of disbelief.

"You did what?" she asks, teeth clenched. Her fingers grip the edge of the table in front of her.

Peeta sighs. The volcano is simmering, and it is only a matter of moments before a full-blown eruption is upon him. "You have to understand, Glimmer, I never thought the ticket would win anything. The waitress thought I was crazy too. She said I might as well leave her nothing. So I explained—"

"You're. Telling. Me," she interrupts, enunciating each word deliberately in a restrained hiss, "that you are giving half our money to a fucking stranger? To some white-trash woman who works in a fucking diner?"

"Katniss isn't white-trash," he spits, and he regrets the immediacy with which he corrects her.

"Oh, you know her name? What the fuck, Peeta? What the have you done?"

"Keep your voice down!" He's vaguely aware that her voice is rising with each outburst, and soon she will be outright shrieking. He also knows she is livid; Glimmer is not prone to swearing, but she cusses like a sailor when she is angry.

"Who does that, Peeta? Who tries to tip a waitress with a stupid lottery ticket?"

"It wouldn't have been a big deal if it hadn't won," he shoots back. "You have to believe me, Glimmer, I figured I'd be going back to that diner this morning with a couple of twenties to settle the bill and give her a generous tip for her kindness. She didn't charge me for the meal when I explained about my wallet."

"How very charitable of her," Glimmer says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You can't tell me you really thought we'd ever win anything, yesterday or any day! No one does! The odds are just so ridiculously stacked against winning—"

"But we _did_ win. And so did twenty-six other people, and now you expect me to just let you give half of _our_ money away to some girl you met in a diner?"

"I made a promise, Glimmer," he says quietly.

"There are times when you don't have to be so fucking noble, Peeta. This is one of them."

"What are you saying?"

"Tell me you didn't tell this waitress about the ticket yet. We can still fix this, Peeta."

"I haven't seen her since yesterday," he replies honestly, thinking of the text message he sent, and the urge to look at his phone and see if she's answered him is suddenly overwhelming. But he said no phones. _Shit_.

"So she doesn't know," Glimmer says slowly.

Peeta shakes his head. "She could, I don't know. I wrote the numbers on one of my business cards for her. I don't know if she took me seriously enough to check the numbers."

"Then fix this," she orders, her voice icy. "No one can really expect you to keep your stupid promise, Peeta. This is unprecedented. Go back to that diner and give the nice little waitress a hundred bucks or something and we can put this behind us."

"It's not that simple, Glimmer."

"Yes, actually, Peeta, it is." Her tone is clipped.

"I'm not breaking my promise," he says quietly.

"If I tell you it's your stupid promise or me you will." A cruel smile curls onto her pink-painted lips as she drains the last of her mojito.

Peeta's stomach clenches and his throat constricts. He knows she's bluffing, and he doubts Glimmer will ever be the one to pull the trigger on their marriage, especially not now with so much riding on their shared assets.

But it unnerves him that if it isn't just an empty ultimatum, he can't be certain which _he_ would choose.

* * *

_A/N-_I'd like to take a moment to encourage readers to head over to AO3 and read the wonderful gift I was given for the HungerGamesExchange's Spring Fling. It's called _To Protect and to Serve_, and it's brilliant. To my wonderful gifter, if you read this, I am still in awe. There are also many other awesome stories there, including six that I betaed and one that I wrote...which I will eventually post here. Authors are revealed Friday. Many thanks to the cool ladies, Angylinni and sabaceanbabe who moderated and ran the whole shebang. Merci, gals.

As always, thank you for reading, and I welcome your thoughts and comments! I answer every review. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **I hope this chapter is worth the wait; I've been working pretty hard on this story, getting a few chapters ahead so as my school work picks up I can keep updates fairly consistent. I did finish a one-shot for the Spring Fling on AO3 (it's called Into the Wild, and you can find it here too) and I've been betaing for many, many lovely ladies whose collective talent continues to amaze me.

Many thanks to ILoveRynMar and jeeno2 for their sage advice and support.

And an enormous thanks and a huge hug to Kismet for the beautiful cover art she graciously made for this story. (Yeah, I picture January Jones as Glimmer, a consummate ice queen, no?)

THG belongs to Suzanne Collins.

* * *

**Thursday, April 16th**

_(Katniss)_

Katniss awakens with a jolt, glancing at her clock, a brief moment of panic washing over until she remembers that no, she's not late because you can't be late to a job you no longer have.

She can't recall the last time she had the luxury of staying in bed past six a.m, so with a contented smile and a sigh, she snuggles down under the sheets and closes her eyes again, letting sleep overtake her. She finally drags herself out of bed around nine and pads to the kitchen to start the coffee maker, relishing the thought of curling up on the couch with a steaming mug of coffee and a book that has been sitting on her nightstand, unopened, for almost four months.

The coffee maker burbles and spits as the rich aroma fills the small apartment. Katniss gazes out the window at the flawless blue sky, not a cloud marring its tableau. She can hear the chirps and calls of the songbirds outside the window when she raises it to let in the fresh morning air. It's a beautiful spring day, and she has the sudden urge to be outside. She considers going for a run after taking a little while to savor her coffee and make a dent in her book.

She's been curled up on her couch, mug in hand, reading for a little over an hour when the intercom buzzes loudly, startling her. The book tumbles from her lap and lands with a thud at her bare feet.

"Yes?" She presses the button and awaits a reply. The intercom crackles and a deep voice booms through the speaker.

"Delivery for a Miss Katherine Everdeen?"

"Katniss?"

"Oh, yeah, my bad. Sorry, lady."

"I'll be right down."

She glances down at her nearly sheer tank top and threadbare pajama bottoms and decides to grab her robe from the bathroom door before she slips her key in the robe's pocket and takes the stairs the three flights down to the lobby.

The deliveryman is partially obstructed by the massive flower arrangement in his arms. Katniss gasps audibly as her eyes flit over dozens of pink, red and white roses. "You Katniss?"

"Yes." She exhales, shaking her head in disbelief. The vase is teeming with the buds, and in spite of the fact that Katniss has never been particularly fond of roses, she can't deny that the flowers are stunning.

"Then these are for you." He thrusts the vase into her arms, and she staggers slightly under its weight. "You either did something very right or someone else did something very wrong."

_Shit_. She knows exactly who these flowers are from now. She signs for the roses and thanks the man, plucking the little white envelope that is nestled precariously among the blooms. Carefully climbing the stairs and cradling the vase, her eyes scan the neat rows of manuscript that she knows is the florist's and not his own infantile chicken-scratch.

_Katniss_

_We're too good together not to_

_give this another go. Please, babe,_

_let's fix this._

_Cato_

Katniss snorts as she imagines him dictating those words to the florist. She fumbles awkwardly with the lock of her apartment door as she jostles the handle and slams the door shut with a swift kick of her foot. She sets the arrangement on the tiny kitchenette table and stares at it for several moments.

She realizes with some annoyance that even if Cato expected a call or a text to thank him, he's made it virtually impossible for her to do that. He destroyed her phone last night, and she doesn't have his number stored anywhere else.

She has never bothered to get a landline; it's a needless expense when she's forever trying to save money. Because of that, her cell phone is everything to her. It's the only way for Prim to reach her while she is away at school, and it's on the resumes she will have to start sending out very shortly.

The annoyance yields to anger when she remembers that her phone isn't old enough to be due for an upgrade, but it's definitely out of the one-year warranty. Buying a new phone is the last thing she wants to do, and she seethes that Cato thinks a showy spray of roses is going to make up for the damage he caused. She'd have rather he replaced the phone than wasted his money on some stupid flowers that will be dead in a week.

Exhaling exasperatedly, she quickly showers—reluctantly forgoing the run that had sounded so appealing—and dresses and walks the six or seven blocks to the Verizon store. After putting her name on the list and milling about the store impatiently for nearly twenty minutes, an employee finally calls her name. Another frustrating twenty minutes ticks past as she shows the know-it-all tech the damaged phone, listens politely to his feverish sales pitch for the latest model of the iPhone—she can definitely _not_ afford that—and eventually signs a contract for her new phone, which is a slightly better version of the one Cato smashed. After the guy transfers her contacts and explains she'll lose any other data or photos, she hands him her debit card and accepts the bag with a quick thanks.

She needs to go back to her apartment to charge the device before she can use it to type out a text to Prim, explaining the circumstances of the last 24 hours. She also leaves a voice mail for her sister, telling her briefly about the breakup with Cato and her crushed phone and assures her that everything is okay. She assumes her sister will call back that evening once she finishes classes.

Her stomach rumbles loudly, but when she opens the fridge to find something to eat for lunch, she's greeted by sparse shelves. Going to the grocery store is the last thing she feels like doing; she makes a mental note to do it tomorrow or Saturday. She grabs a yogurt, peels back the lid and flops onto the couch again. It's been weeks since she loafed around and did nothing. Might as well savor her gift of idleness for one day. It also can't hurt to conserve her energy if she's really going to make good on her promise to go out with Johanna later that night.

Clicking on the television, she thumbs absentmindedly through the channels, licking the spoon. It's just the briefest snatch of a sound bite, but it's enough to cause Katniss to pause on the local news's noon broadcast.

"…winners beginning to identify themselves in the wake of last night's monster PowerBall jackpot. Twenty-six tickets hit nationally, one of which was sold right here at a convenience store on 12th and Pearl Street."

Katniss pauses, the spoon halfway to her mouth. Pearl Street is not even a mile from her apartment. She sighs and sucks the yogurt off the spoon. The thought that someone so nearby has struck it rich and had his or her life changed so dramatically in the span of one day niggles at her, and she feels a pang of jealousy. She wonders why it couldn't have been her.

_Because you don't buy lottery tickets, stupid._

And then she remembers Peeta Mellark.

He had been looking for her yesterday and recalls the nasty accusation Cato threw at her before he stomped on her phone. He had implied the incoming text was from a guy whose number wasn't already in her phone. It's entirely possible that text message had been from Peeta. Johanna had given him her number after all.

She searches her mind for what she did with that business card that he gave her.

_Fuck_. It's still in the pocket of her apron. The apron that belonged to Cray and she left behind when she was fired yesterday.

Katniss sighs and sinks down on the edge of her bed, burying her face in her hands and lamenting why nothing seems to be going her way this week. And just when she thinks things can't get worse, her phone rings. A quick glance at the screen churns her stomach. She braces herself. "Hello?"

"Katniss, babe. You get my flowers?"

Katniss groans under her breath and closes her eyes, willing herself to keep her cool during this conversation. At least, she reasons, he can't stay on the phone too long and has to keep himself in check too. He's at school, after all.

"Yes, I did," she starts hesitantly. "And they're lovely, but you really shouldn't have."

"Fuck that," he laughs, and she rolls her eyes. So much for that theory. "I wanted to show you how much I like you and how good we can be if you give me another chance."

"Cato, I—"

"You're giving me another chance, right Katniss?"

"Cato, no," she sighs. "I'm not. The flowers are beautiful and thoughtful, but I meant what I said last night. We don't have much in common, and it's just not going to work. I'm sorry."

"You're making a big fucking mistake, you know that?"

"Maybe. But I'm a big girl, and I can live with my mistakes." She can hear his heavy breathing through the speaker, and she can picture his face flushed deep red, eyes flashing fire. She's seen him angry before; it's not a pretty sight. She pities the students who will have to face him that afternoon.

"You fucking cost me nearly $100 today."

"Then I guess we're even. Because that's just a little less than I spent replacing the phone that you so kindly destroyed last night in my uncle's bar."

"I should have broken more than your phone," he snarls, his voice dark and menacing. The threat sends a frisson of fear slithering down her spine.

"I think we're done, Cato," she says and without another word, she disconnects the call. Running from her bedroom, she grabs the vase of roses and rushes into the hallway, leaving her apartment door slightly ajar. She knocks on the door of her neighbor across the hall, a kindly older widow named Mags who used to be a high-school teacher and lives with her five cats. She had a stroke last summer, and her speech is still slurred.

"Hullo, Katnish," the elderly woman says warmly when she answers the door.

"Hi, Mags. These are for you." She shoves the flowers towards her neighbor, whose face lights up, her cloudy eyes lifting in a wide smile.

"Whaddid I do?" Mags crows, studying the vase.

"I don't want them, and I'd rather someone get a little joy from them."

"Well, thank you, Katnish. That's shweet of you!" She takes a deep whiff of the fragrant blooms and smiles again. "Would you like to join me for tea?" she says slowly.

"Thank you, Mags, but maybe another time. Please enjoy the roses." She gives the old woman a little wave and slips back inside her apartment. Her phone pings from the bedroom, and she retrieves it from her bed, glancing at the screen.

_Jo: u gonna weasel out of tonight again brainless?_

_Katniss: I'm game. Do me a favor? Are you at work? Check the pocket of my apron if Cray hasn't burned it yet._

She awaits a reply.

_Jo: Ill check._

A few minutes later, Katniss's phone pings.

_Jo: What were u looking for? nothing there._

_Katniss: Thanks Jo. Call me later._

She saves the number into her phone, adding Johanna's name as a new contact and sets it down on the bedside table.

She's not even sure why she's suddenly so compelled to see Peeta, but she's utterly disappointed that she has no means to contact him.

Unless…

She shakes the thought from her head. It looks pathetic if she goes to his restaurant to return a text message that she's not even entirely sure was from him, doesn't it? If he wants to talk to her so badly, won't he reach out again?

Still, she finds herself on her ancient laptop, Googling local restaurants, trying desperately to remember the name of Peeta's place. It had a number in it, she's relatively sure. Maybe a thirteen? That sounds familiar. Her eyes scan the search results, shifting from side to side looking for anything to jump off the screen.

Bingo. _Thirteen-12._

She chastises herself for contemplating changing clothes before leaving her apartment. And then she curses herself aloud when she actually does slip out of her jeans and t-shirt and shimmies into a long-sleeved jersey dress before unraveling her braid, finger-combing the soft waves and giving herself a quick peek in the mirror.

Peeta's restaurant is actually not that far from Katniss's apartment, she is surprised to learn. Just before turning the corner onto 12th Street from Pearl, Katniss notices the bold neon sign in the front window of the Express Mart. "Winning Ticket Sold Here!" it proclaims proudly. She shakes her head incredulously and keeps walking, the promise Peeta had made to her concerning his ticket still not a blip on her mental radar.

She comes to a stop in front of the restaurant. The black awning is adorned with simple, capital letters in rich gold that announce its name: THIRTEEN-12, and there are a number of small, wrought-iron round tables on the front sidewalk, but none are seated at the moment.

Taking a deep breath, she pushes open the door and stares in awe at the tastefully elegant surroundings. Everything is decorated in shades of amber and gold and black, and the architecture is classically beautiful. One large domed doorframe appears to lead to the dining room, where a quiet din is audible from what Katniss assumes is the lunch crowd. She can see the bar off to the left, and she cranes her neck to catch a better glimpse. A rich, onyx-lacquered podium shields a slender woman with red hair pulled back into a taut chignon. She gives Katniss a curt smile.

"May I help you?"

"Oh, yeah, hi. I'm here to see Peeta Mellark," she says, ignoring the little flutter in her stomach when she says his name aloud. _Stop it, you idiot, _she scolds herself.

The woman gives Katniss the once-over and purses her thin lips. "Is he expecting you?"

"Probably not." Katniss laughs airily. "Is he available?"

"One moment." She presses a button on the telephone that rests on the hostess stand and picks up the receiver. Katniss fidgets, picking at the cuticle on her left thumb while she waits. "Mr. Mellark? There's someone here to see you." She pauses and listens. "No, sir. Yes. Okay." She releases the button and hangs up the phone.

"Mr. Mellark will be right out. You can have a seat." She gestures to a plush, black leather bench that dominates the front wall under a massive window.

Katniss settles on the bench, tapping her foot nervously against the floor as she looks around, marveling at the beauty of the décor. She feels as if she's in the French Quarter of New Orleans, though she's never had the chance to visit the city herself. She wonders where Peeta got the inspiration for the furnishings of the restaurant, or if it was more Finnick's doing. Or perhaps it was something they conceived together.

"Katniss!" She jumps up from the bench at the sound of her name and sees Peeta standing before her, those blue eyes twinkling in the soft light of the lobby.

How did she never notice how incredibly good-looking he was when they were in high school? His blond waves look effortless, though she remembers from dating Gale that the simplest hairstyles on men often take the most work. He is impeccably dressed in charcoal-grey dress shirt, perfectly tailored black slacks and a claret-red tie.

But it's his smile that immediately puts her at ease. His face exudes warmth and kindness; he appears genuinely happy to see her.

"Hi." She smiles in return. "I hope you don't mind me stopping by like this."

"Not at all." He grins, stepping forward to envelope her in a hug that catches her off-guard. It's brief, but she inhales reflexively and is mesmerized by what she smells. She thinks she discerns notes of cinnamon and dill and oak. She can't tell if it's his cologne or it's his own masculine scent. But it's intoxicating, and she takes another quick breath to revel in it again. "I'm so glad to see you. I've been trying to get a hold of you."

Katniss sighs and steps back from his embrace. "Yeah, about that."

"Wait." He holds a hand out to stop her. "Let's go to my office and chat. Is that okay?"

"Uh, sure," she nods, hesitating when he places a hand at the small of her back and guides her past the hostess stand and bar and through a set of paneled onyx doors that separate the front of the restaurant from the back-of-the-house.

A cacophony of noises rises immediately, the telltale signs of a restaurant kitchen at work. She hears voices barking commands at each other, the sharp sizzle of flames and the clattering of dishes and pans, but Peeta maneuvers through the chaos without stopping. He pushes open a door and motions for Katniss to step inside.

"Have a seat. Get comfortable. Are you hungry?"

"Oh, no, that's okay. I ate." She thinks about the carton of yogurt she ate, and her stomach betrays her, growling loudly.

"Do you like quiche?" he asks with a knowing smile. "It's our lunch special today. Quiche Florentine?"

"It sounds delicious, thank you."

Peeta sticks his head out of the door and calls to someone to prepare two lunch specials. He then closes the door and ushers her to a chair that faces a desk. His desk, she presumes. But he surprises her by taking the chair next to hers instead of sitting behind it.

From where Katniss is seated, she has a perfect view of the second desk, which must be Finnick's judging by the framed wedding photo. Finnick stands on a beach, his arms wrapped around a stunningly beautiful petite woman with long, dark hair. Their smiles are radiant, the turquoise water sparkling behind them.

Katniss wonders if Peeta's desk displays his own wedding portrait. She can see the backs of a few picture frames, and she assumes that at least one of the photographs must be of his wife. She desperately wants to know what the woman who captured Peeta Mellark's heart looks like, even though she has a few ideas.

"So you're a hard lady to track down," he teases. "You're not at work, you don't answer texts."

"I can explain," she says, "Johanna told me you had come by and that she gave you my number. Was that you who texted me around 8:30 last night?"

"Yes, I did."

Katniss shakes her head. "I would have answered you, Peeta, I promise. But my phone kind of got smashed and—"

His eyes widen, and so she proceeds to tell him the whole story of Cato and the bar and why she was unable to get Peeta's text message. And then, although she's not sure what possess her to do so, she continues to talk, detailing the entire morning at Cray's and how she managed to get herself fired. Peeta listens attentively, his eyes fixed on her, until she explains why she no longer had his business card and thus coming here was her only way to contact him.

"You've had an interesting twenty-four hours, huh?" he asks gently.

She twists the end of her braid around her finger and tries not to stare into his eyes too long. "You could say that."

"How did you wind up dating an asshole like that Cato guy anyway?"

The blunt inquiry takes her by surprise, and she finds him gazing at her sympathetically. At least, she thinks it's sympathy. She hopes it's not pity because she has enough self-pity in regards to the guys she tends to attract lately.

There is knock on the door before she can answer. "Yes?" Peeta calls.

A tall brunette woman stands in the open door. "Mr. Mellark, I need you to speak with a customer."

"Leevy, I'm with someone. Thresh is the assistant-manager on duty. He can handle it, I'm sure."

"This guy is insistent he speak to you."

Peeta sighs and stands. "I'll be right back, Katniss."

He pulls the door shut behind him, and Katniss looks around the office, her curiosity getting the best of her. She sneaks another glance at the closed door and levers herself up on the edge of his desk, peering over the tops of the picture frames.

The first frame holds a picture of two smiling boys and an infant, all tow-headed. Peeta never said anything about having children, and the oldest boy appears to be about five or so. They're cute kids, and they do bear a resemblance to him. Nephews probably. But her stomach pitches a little at the thought of him as a father.

The next photo brings a smile to her face. It's faded, showing its age, but there can be no mistaking this small blond boy is Peeta as a child, sitting cross-legged on the counter of his father's deli, Mr. Mellark's arms wrapped around him from his position behind the counter. Father and son both wear brilliant smiles, Peeta's flaunting a gap where a front tooth used to be. He was an adorable kid.

She has a sudden yearning to go back in time and tell her younger self to pay more attention to Peeta Mellark.

The last frame bears the photo she was hoping to find. It's not a wedding portrait, but it's indisputably Peeta and his wife.

She's everything Katniss envisioned: blonde, shiny, all perfectly gleaming white teeth. In the picture, he gazes at her adoringly, while she faces the camera, aiming a wide smile directly at whoever was taking it. An illogical pang of jealousy shoots through Katniss as she studies the picture.

The door opens, and Katniss leaps back into her seat, knocking over the picture of Peeta and his father in the process. _Shit_, she panics, frantically fumbling to get the frame back to its proper position.

But it's not Peeta. A stout white-haired man smiles and quietly places two plates on a small table near the door. He gives a little bow and retreats from the room.

The smell of the quiche is heavenly, and she fights the urge to run to the table and devour it in a few bites. Fortunately within a few minutes, the door opens again, and Peeta steps in.

"Sorry," he apologizes. "It was actually my old wrestling coach. Wanted to say hi."

"No problem. I really shouldn't have bothered you at work."

"I'm glad you're here, Katniss. I do need to talk to you about something." He reaches for her hand. "Let's eat."

The conversation while they enjoy their quiches is casual and surprisingly easy. Peeta tells her about how he came to start Thirteen-12 and he answers the mystery of the décor—Finnick is originally from New Orleans and insisted on his beloved Saints' colors as well as the French Quarter-inspired architecture. He asks about Prim, and Katniss gushes about her sister's ambitions and accomplishments and her plans to go to med school.

"You're pretty amazing supporting your sister like that." He smiles, placing his fork across the empty tart dish.

Katniss shrugs and takes the penultimate bite of her quiche, savoring the lingering bursts of rosemary and sage on her tongue. "It's the least I could do. My father wouldn't have wanted Prim's dream to suffer because my mom couldn't keep it together for us." She wipes her mouth with her napkin and sighs. "Course, it's going to be harder without a job. Picking up shifts at my uncle's bar doesn't pay her tuition bills."

"Right, your job." He leans forward on the table and locks those impossibly blue eyes on hers again. Katniss forces herself to blink lest she completely lose herself in the cerulean pools. "Can I ask you something, Katniss?"

Her heart picks up its pace unexpectedly. "Uh, sure?"

"What would you say if I offered you a job?"

"What?"

It's not what she was expecting him to say. And she knows his intentions are likely pure, and he's trying to be the sweet, kind Peeta Mellark who saved her ass once before. He's giving her such an earnest smile that she feels a twinge of guilt when she pushes back her chair and throws her napkin to the table.

"I told you the other day that I don't need your charity."

"Katniss, no!" He bolts from his own seat and grabs her hand. "No, no," he continues gently. "Please don't take it that way. I know you are perfectly capable of finding another job."

She yanks her hand back from him, ignoring the tingles spreading throughout her palm and up her arm.

"I just…I mean, Finnick and I need someone to fill in for Annie while she is on maternity leave. I just thought maybe it would appeal to you and be a good alternative while you look for a new job." He tousles his hair, avoiding her eyes, seemingly embarrassed.

The guilt settles over her anew. How is it possible someone is this nice?

"I'm sorry. It was a bad idea. And it's not really what I wanted to talk to you about. It was just something that kind of came to me when you said what you said about paying for Prim's school." He rubs at the nape of his neck and shakes his head. "Forget it, I'm sorry, Katniss. I would never want you to think I—"

She surprises herself when the words slip out. "What would you need me to do?"

He glances down at her, and she feels her breath catch in her throat.

"It, uh…well, Annie kind of managed the hostesses and the sommeliers for us. She sometimes took shifts as a hostess herself."

"So it's not a waitressing job?" she asks.

"Oh, no. It's a salaried position. I mean, it's only a replacement leave so I can't really offer you any benefits, but I can assure you it's decent money, if you are interested." He hesitates. "Why, did you, um, want to waitress?"

"Uh, well, it's what I do really. I mean, do you really trust me to do the work Annie did?"

"Katniss, Annie was a teacher until last spring. She figured it out just fine, and I have complete confidence that you would too."

She considers the offer. It's not that waitressing or hostessing or even bartending at Abernathy's is really what she wants to do with her life. But at twenty-five, she is starting to panic that she's not destined for much more. The record labels are hardly breaking down her door to beg for her songs. It's been months since she even received a polite rejection letter or email. Besides, she reasons, Peeta is probably a very kind and patient boss, and being around him on a daily basis is quite tempting.

"You probably have far more qualified applicants than me," she hedges softly.

"If you want the job, Katniss, it's yours," he insists, and his face is so sincere that it cracks the last of her resolve.

"Okay," she whispers quietly. "Thank you."

"That's, ah, that's still not what I wanted to talk to you about."

An awkward silence settles over them, Katniss waiting anxiously for him to speak again, and Peeta visibly struggling to decide how to begin.

"We should probably sit down," he finally says. Katniss knits her brows and acquiesces, sliding back into the chair at the little table. Peeta shakes his head and licks his lips, opening his mouth to protest, but then he clearly changes his mind and takes a seat across the table from her.

"I didn't forget about your tip from the other day," he says, and Katniss thinks she hears the slightest edge of uncertainty in his voice. It's hesitant, unsure.

"Oh, Peeta, please. You just gave me a job. That's generous enough. And you fed me lunch! Which was amazing, by the way. I can't say that I've ever had better quiche than that." He's staring at her so intently that her mouth goes dry and she has to swallow several times to ease the parched sensation.

"I made you a promise, Katniss," he continues quietly. "You remember what that promise was?" It's not a question, or if it is, he doesn't allow her even a moment to reply. "The lottery ticket. I offered you half of its winnings."

Katniss swallows again, but this time, it's to dislodge the lump that is steadily creeping up her throat. There is something about the halting way he is delivering his words to her, something that raises the hair on the back of her neck and prickles goose flesh all over her arms.

"The lottery ticket. It was a winner."

_Of course it was, _she thinks_. _What doesn't go right for Peeta Mellark? For a fleeting second, she wants to resent this man, this man to whom everything comes so easily. Handsome, successful, married, generous…now lucky. All the things that she isn't.

But she can't. Nice things couldn't happen to a nicer guy. "That's great, Peeta," she smiles genuinely. "How much did you win?"

"_We,_ Katniss. You're part of this equation."

"Peeta, stop," she sighs. "I don't expect you to honor some silly deal that we made over a stupid $20 meal at a diner. It's fine."

"And what if I want to honor it?" he asks, his eyes glinting as he reaches for her hand. Katniss glances down at where his palm rests atop hers, and she feels her heart begin to thrum erratically.

"What did you win, Peeta?"

She remembers the giddy sign in the window of the convenience store literally a half-second before he answers. "We hit the jackpot," he reveals, and the awed tone of his voice tells Katniss that he still hasn't come to terms with it.

"You didn't," she breathes.

"We did." He persists in using that word, _we_, and Katniss shakes her head.

"How much, Peeta?"

He takes a deep breath. "A little over seven million dollars. There were actually quite a few winning tickets or it would have been more."

Seven million dollars. Katniss is speechless. She thinks if he had said seven hundred thousand dollars that she still would have been impressed. She can't wrap her head around what it must have been like when he saw those numbers and knew he'd won.

"Oh my god, Peeta," she replies shakily. "That's a lot of money!"

"Yeah, yeah it is."

"I can't even imagine! I mean, how excited were you? How did you find out?"

He is still holding her hand as he relates the details of two nights ago. When he finally mentions his wife, Katniss freezes and pulls her hand out from under his.

"Your wife, Peeta," she whispers. Because she can't imagine that he would be telling her about this windfall without first discussing it with his wife, this Glimmer that he has alluded to. (She honestly can't believe anyone could look at a newborn baby and name her _Glimmer,_ but it certainly fits the blond beauty from the photograph.)

"What about her?"

"It's her money, too, Peeta. How did she react? Because I don't think too many women who would take it well if her husband decided to share _seven_ million dollars with a total stranger! I know I wouldn't." Of course, she thinks to herself, Peeta's wife is probably some kind of a saint, some sweet, kind soul who is the perfect compliment to him. She pictures them sitting around the breakfast table with the winning ticket in hand, excitedly talking about showering money on the homeless or war veterans or those wounded animals on those damn television commercials with that gut-wrenching Sarah McLachlan song.

His mouth twitches and his brows furrow. He scratches at the faint blond stubble that Katniss just now sees catching the light at the angle his face is tilted. "Well, you're not really a stranger, Katniss," he begins, giving her a wan smile. "But I kind of didn't tell her that we went to school together and I knew you already."

"I guess that wouldn't look very good, would it?" she replies.

"Probably not," he nods. "I had nothing but good intentions when I promised you the share of the ticket, Katniss. I don't want Glimmer to turn it into something malicious, accuse me of some ulterior motives. And she didn't take it that well. She was pretty mad at me for what I did."

Katniss feels a tug at her heart at the thought that Peeta could have gotten himself in trouble with his wife over her. There's no way she can handle knowing she is the cause of any friction in his perfect life. She _won't_ be the cause of it, no matter how enticing it is to consider, even for a fleeting second, just how much her life would change with even a fraction of that kind of money.

"Peeta, I can't even tell you how much it means that you would even try to keep the promise you made. But let's be serious. This is just so far out of the realm of reality that you can't possibly be held accountable. I mean, if you had known that morning that you were holding seven million dollars in your hand, would you have even thought twice about making that offer to me?"

He hesitates, and she sees a flickering of something she can't place light his eyes briefly. He doesn't answer her question though. Instead, he says, "I want to give you this money, Katniss. You can't tell me it wouldn't change your life."

"My life doesn't need changing," she responds quickly, tasting the lie as it leaves her tongue. "And this is starting to feel like charity again, Peeta, and you know I've made myself pretty clear about that."

She stands up, her knees knocking, legs trembling slightly, and she steadies herself to get it together. "This has been really nice, and it's been really good seeing you again—"

But Peeta doesn't let her finish. He jumps up and grabs her shoulders, forcefully enough to surprise her, but not tightly enough to hurt her.

"Katniss, please. Why is it so hard for you to believe that you deserve good things as much as anyone else? Please take the money. Or at least say you'll think about it." He locks his gaze on hers, and Katniss is acutely aware of just how close he is to her when she feels the heat of his breath as he exhales.

She coughs and takes a step back. "I should go."

He reaches into the breast pocket of his dress shirt and presses another business card into her palm, letting his hand linger on hers for a few seconds. "Please think it over, Katniss." It almost sounds as if he's pleading with her.

"No promises," she says, running the pads of her fingers over the embossed letters.

"You'll still take the job, though?" he asks quietly. She hesitates and nods, a pleasant warmth spreading through her as he smiles widely at her gesture.

"Yes, I will."

"Good," he smiles again. "Why don't you come by tomorrow morning around nine? We can do your paperwork, and I can get you acquainted with your responsibilities." He clears his throat. "And you can give me an answer then."

"Peeta," she warns sternly, and he gives her a sheepish look.

"I can be pretty persistent."

Something about his choice of words gives rise to a mild fluttering in her stomach, and she feels her cheeks flush with heat.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Peeta. Thank you again for lunch. It was delicious."

He offers to walk her out, and she declines politely, telling him she can manage on her own, and she suddenly can't get out of there quickly enough.

As she strides briskly up the sidewalk, away from Thirteen-12, the neon sign in the convenience store lures her eyes like a moth to a flame, and she spends the rest of the walk back to her apartment trying not to think of all the ways she could use three million dollars and trying not to picture Peeta's haunting blue eyes locked on hers, the tone of his last words to her causing her stomach to somersault.

She fails miserably on both accounts.

* * *

_Back to Peeta in the next chapter. Please share your thoughts and comments; I love to hear from you and appreciate the reviews, follows and favorites. _


	6. Chapter 6

**_Author's Note:_ **Thanks so much for the lovely reviews and the follows/favorites that you continue to shower upon this story. Clicking that review button and leaving a few words behind may not seem like much of a gesture, but it's the nicest feeling for an author to know his or her work is enjoyed by you.

My other WIP is starting to wind down, so I am planning to post the prologue of a story that I have been working on for some time in the very near future to gauge readers' interest. Please keep an eye out for it in case you don't have me on author alert.

Thank you to my wonderful cheering section, ILoveRynMar and jeeno2, who also gets credit for lending me her legal ear as we tread into murky waters with the ticket and the marriage. For all intents and purposes, I've deliberately left Panem as the "state" in which they live so as not to be tied to any one state's laws, and thus, creative license is mine!

THG belongs to Suzanne Collins.

* * *

**Chapter 6-Friday, April 17th**

_**(Peeta)**_

Peeta squints through the driver's side window at the tiny numbers and letters on the large marquee at the entrance of the business complex, his car idling as his eyes scan the rows of doctors' names and accounting and law firms. The sprawling compound is relatively new, and several of the office buildings are still unoccupied, leasing signs prominently displayed on several lots. He can't blame his lawyer for relocating his firm to this industrial park; it has to be more spacious and cleaner than the old office near Chinatown.

He finally locates Plutarch's firm's name on the sign and heads down the main thoroughfare, making a right turn into the lot for Buildings 7 and 8. He parks and exits the car, locking the vehicle with his remote. As he steps onto the sidewalk to start for Building 8, a tiny blonde-haired pixie in a pink tutu nearly plows into him.

A woman standing beside a mini-van two spots over from where Peeta's car is parked clicks her own remote, which emits a loud chirp. "Isabella! You almost knocked that nice man over! And what have I told you about running in parking lots?" She rushes towards the little girl and grabs her hand.

"Sorry, Mommy." The girl looks up at Peeta and flashes a crooked grin. "Sorry, mister."

"It's okay," he says, smiling down at the toddler.

"She's a bit overzealous about her ballet class. I'm so sorry," the woman apologizes.

"Really, it's okay." He smiles again and watches the girl eagerly drag her mother towards Building 7, which Peeta sees houses a large dance studio. Through the wide plate-glass window, he can see several little girls in ballet attire running around while a tall, lithe woman with her hair in a severe bun clearly tries to get their attention. The children finally clamor into a crooked line and begin to mimic the movements of the teacher.

He smiles ruefully at the scene as he turns for Building 8. Whenever he thinks about children (and he valiantly tries not to lately), he thinks that he'd be more than happy to have a little girl, even though he knows most men would profess a preference for a boy first. He rather likes the idea of a Daddy's girl—he imagines idling around dance classes like the one he just witnessed, cheering at soccer games on Saturday mornings, Father-Daughter outings and hours spent together in the kitchen, baking cookies and cupcakes and taking turns licking the batter bowl as he teaches her all his secrets.

Not that it really matters at this point. There are no children in his immediate future, at least not ones of his own creation. He will have to continue to live vicariously through Grant and Charys, spoiling his nephews—though they are plenty spoiled without him—and now he can add Finnick's little guy to the mix.

He climbs the two flights to his lawyer's new office, pushing open the door with the gleaming, brass plate that proclaims: "Heavensbee, Paylor & Associates."

Plutarch Heavensbee has been a friend of Peeta's father for years; he's also been Peeta's lawyer since he and Finnick conceived the idea for Thirteen-12. The displaced Southern gentleman still speaks with a heavy drawl and is as tenacious as a bulldog in court. He specialized in criminal law, and before moving north, he had been a public defender in Mississippi. Plutarch once told Peeta that was what finally soured him on the justice system—the lack of how it was carried out in the Deep South. So he opted to come north to set up a smaller practice specializing in domestic and family law. His partner, Carole Paylor, actually is the expert in business law and often handles issues for the restaurant, but Peeta's purpose this morning is not business-related.

He still has not told his family about the lottery; he knows he needs legal counsel on how best to proceed with claiming his share, as well as the legality of the promise he made to Katniss. He knows there will likely be no one to voice support for his insistence that he give anything to her. Furthermore, he fully expects to ward off accusations of insanity and professions of sympathetic allegiance to Glimmer. He knows his mother will be firmly in her corner. He needs an objective listener.

Katniss arrived, as promised, earlier in the morning to fill out paperwork. She had been cordial, but Peeta could tell she had been keeping him at bay. He had given her a more thorough tour of the restaurant before going through a brief orientation on the details of her position. Then he had showed her the smaller office where she would keep her things and have her space alongside Thom and Thresh, and she had left shortly after. All in all, they had spent an hour and fourteen minutes together—not that Peeta was counting.

She had managed to keep their conversation very professional, all business and had also evaded any extended conversation about the ticket, only reaffirming that she did not feel comfortable accepting such a gift. He disputed the word 'gift' and told her so. She had changed the subject back to work and what time she should arrive on Monday.

She does, however, now have his cell phone number—strictly for work purposes, she had reiterated when he dictated it to her.

Peeta knows by the time he sees her again, he will have to have made a decision about the ticket. And he has an inkling how he's going to go about that now, thanks to some quality time on eHow and Legal Zoom.

"Hello, Peeta!" Plutarch's receptionist, Cecelia, says, giving him a warm smile from behind her desk. "He's expecting you. Go ahead in." He returns her smile and opens the door to Plutarch's office.

"Peeta, my boy," the jovial lawyer booms, swinging a nine-iron over his left shoulder. "How the hell are ya?"

"Good, Plutarch, good." He reaches out and shakes the plump man's hand. Plutarch rests the golf club against his desk and leans back on the mahogany surface.

"What can I do you for today? Cecelia said you had something interesting to discuss with me. You got this old boy intrigued."

"Well, yeah, I've got some really, uh, for lack of a better word, life-changing news. And I need some advice."

"That pretty little wife of yours has a bun in the oven?"

Peeta shakes his head and swallows back a bitter laugh. "That would certainly be life-changing, but no. Not a baby." He clears his throat. "Not certain that's happening. Ever. And that's another story."

Plutarch crosses his arms across his massive chest, and his eyes sparkle with curiosity. "Okay, well then, spill, kiddo."

"You know that PowerBall lottery from the other night?"

"Tell me you don't have the winning ticket that was sold right here in this town," he says, chuckling.

"That's exactly what I'm telling you," Peeta replies, nodding his affirmation.

Plutarch lets out a low whistle between his teeth and rocks back on his heels as he straightens his bulky frame. "Well I'll be a monkey's uncle."

"Yeah, it's still very overwhelming. So you see why I need some advice?"

"Yep, sure do. Goddamn, you lucky son-of-a-bitch! Good for you, boy!" He gives another low, rumbling laugh. "I can't say I ever had a lottery winner for a client in all my years. Once represented a guy who hit it big at the slots in Vegas, but that bum didn't take any of my advice and spent that two mil in about a year. Blow and hookers'll suck you dry real quick. Literally, if you catch my drift."

"Well, I can assure you that this money will be well invested and well spent."

"I don't doubt it. You've always had a good head on those shoulders of yours." He motions to the chairs in front of his desk and makes his own move to amble around to have a seat behind it. Peeta settles into one of the armchairs and cracks his knuckles. Plutarch stares at him expectantly. "So where would you like to begin?"

"Well, ah, you're the first one other than my wife to know about this so—"

He seems surprised by the revelation. "You haven't told anyone yet?"

"No, not really. I mean, Glimmer told her mother, and well, someone else knows, but I'll get to her in a few minutes. It's just once people know, things are going to change drastically. I want to be as prepared as I can be before that happens."

Plutarch smiles amiably. "There's that good head of yours again."

They spend the next twenty minutes discussing as much as they can, though Plutarch admits he is not well versed in many of the laws that apply in these unusual circumstances. He does inform Peeta that Panem is not a blind trust state, and thus, he won't have the option to stay anonymous. His name will be released to the media the moment he claims the ticket.

Plutarch also supplies him with the names of several reputable financial advisors. He and Finnick have a financial consultant for Thirteen-12, but Plutach strongly encourages him to keep this personal windfall separate from his business contacts.

And then Peeta brings up Katniss. He can tell that Plutarch is confused by the whole situation. The older man's brows dip, and his forehead creases, and he grunts several times, nodding his head and pursing his lips, as if to interrupt before opting to fall silent again.

It does sound ridiculous, he begrudgingly admits to himself, as he recounts the circumstances of the ticket. He can't help but acknowledge that should he have made such a ludicrous promise to any random waitress in a diner who was_ not_ Katniss Everdeen, he might not have been so compelled to keep up his end of the bargain. Of course, in this lawsuit-happy nation, there could likely have been many waitresses who'd have taken him to court to try to force him to fulfill the promise.

"Well, you've gotten yourself in quite the pickle, then, haven't ya?"

"Yeah, I have." He sighs and scratches absently at his chin, the stubble of several days rough against the pads of his fingers.

"It's unusual, son. Your generosity, I mean." Plutarch pauses and pulls off his glasses, huffing at them and clouding the lenses with his breath. He then polishes them against his shirt before sliding them back onto the bridge of his nose. "How'd your wife take it?"

"Not well." He laughs ruefully. "And I know she has a right to be mad. But a promise is a promise, Plutarch, and I can't go back on my word. Glimmer will still have more money that she'll know what to do with—"

"Oh, Peeta, boy. You don't think any woman ever thinks she has enough money, do you?"

"Part of what I came for is sage legal advice, and now that that is largely out of the way, the other thing I need from you is your candid honesty having had four wives."

"Touché, kid." The portly man chuckles. "Go on."

"Let me ask you this. My promise to Katniss? It's legally binding, is it not?"

"Well, in general oral contracts are legally binding. You said promised her half the ticket if it won and wrote the lottery numbers on your business card, right?" Peeta nods. "And she agreed to this?"

He nods again. "It was her tip, Plutarch. I had no money, remember?"

The lawyer tents his fingers and ponders for a minute before shuffling things around on his desk and producing a yellow legal pad. He grabs a fountain pen and scribbles to get the ink flowing. "Okay, well, for starters, you don't have an oral contract."

The statement, to say the least, surprises him. He had done his reading, or so he thought. "What? How is that?"

"You promised her something, half the lottery ticket, and she agreed to it. That's not technically an oral contract. There's no consideration."

In short, Plutarch explains to him that though he promised to give something to Katniss, she did not agree to give up anything in exchange for what was promised. It's called consideration, and it must be present for an oral contract to be in place and therefore, be legally binding.

"Well." Peeta hedges, mulling over the explanation, "she didn't get her tip right away. Could that not be considered giving something up? She wasn't given her money immediately."

Plutarch looks thoughtful, and he scrawls a few lines on his pad. "Could be. Bottom line is that oral contracts are the dickens to prove in a court of law, and you very well could leave yourself open to that being challenged." He clears his throat. "You asking about all this, son, it kind of makes me think you're expecting some kind of a fight."

Peeta smiles wryly. "I can't put anything past you."

"This the candid honesty part that you came here for?"

"Yeah, I guess it is." He takes a deep breath and rubs at his temples, probing the sensitive skin with hard pressure from the tips of his fingers. "I'm ending my marriage." He pauses, watches Plutarch's eyes widen like saucers, and then clears his own throat. "What we have isn't really even a marriage anymore."

"You've thought this through." Plutarch says quietly, and it's not a question. He knows Peeta too well to think he would ever make such a decision impulsively.

"I have," he replies. His stomach coils into a taut knot; the crumbling of his marriage has been weighing on him for months, but speaking the words aloud doesn't sound as liberating to his conscience as he thought they might. Perhaps it's because he knows ending his union with Glimmer will not be an easy process, and now with the lottery winnings in the equation, it will be even messier.

"This doesn't have anything to do with that waitress, does it?" Plutarch questions, and understanding is palpable in his sympathetic eyes.

"It doesn't," he emphasizes. "If anything, Katniss has been the catalyst for me to pull this trigger. I've had my finger on it for quite some time."

"Katniss, huh?"

The knot in Peeta's stomach loosens, and a warm sensation roils through his gut at the repetition of her name. But the lawyer's tone implies he doesn't quite believe Katniss's involvement in the whole mess to be wholly innocent. "I'm not having an affair, Plutarch. I can assure you of that. I'd never do that to Glimmer, no matter how bad things have gotten."

"But you care for this woman, this Katniss," Plutarch says gently. "It's kind of the only logical explanation for why you'd make such an outlandish promise to her over a measly check in a diner." He chortles. "She's not just a waitress you met in a diner, is she?"

Peeta feels his cheeks flush at the insinuation, and he sighs before filling Plutarch in on his muddled history with Katniss Everdeen. He then explains all that he learned about legal partnerships and waits for Plutarch to counter.

"This is a real mess, Peeta. But damned if I can't help but be amused by the whole thing. It's just so you, kid. So sweet and endearing. It's like one of those made-for-TV-movie things." He smirks and leans back in his desk chair. "You've done your research. A legal partnership is definitely the way most tickets are shared among large groups who win. Coworkers, bowling teams, that sort of thing."

"Is it still plausible if two of the parties are technically married?"

"I don't see how it's not. That's not to say it won't complicate things when it comes time to divide assets if you file for divorce."

Peeta swallows and closes his eyes. It's not a case of 'if" but 'when,' he thinks, but does not say it aloud. "So do all the parties involved have to agree to it?"

Plutarch frowns. "That's what a partnership entails, so, yes, all parties must consent."

_Fuck_, he thinks. It will be a challenge enough to get Katniss to agree. But it will be virtually _impossible_ to get Glimmer's consent.

He's going to have to take a gamble. But he's beaten the odds once, then, hasn't he?

* * *

The house is empty when he returns home a few hours later. But Glimmer's coupe was in the garage, so he knows she's around somewhere.

Soft calypso music pipes from the surround sound; the French doors to the patio are ajar. Peeta approaches the screen door, and he spies Glimmer lying on a chaise lounge, a glass of white wine in her left hand and a gossip rag in the other.

He sighs and retreats back into the kitchen, turning on the oven to preheat, and then he clicks it off, immediately changing his mind. Instead, he begins rummaging through the vegetable crisper. Stir-fry will be faster. He checks the shelves for the chicken he bought two days ago, and he fires up a pan on the range, coating it with olive oil to sauté the chicken.

He always finds cooking therapeutic; he hums quietly to himself as he dices the peppers and slices the onions into slivers and adds an array of spices to the sizzling pan. Baking is actually his favorite thing to do, but Glimmer turns up her nose at every dessert he proffers, reminding him that even a bite isn't worth the calories. Peeta yearns to inform her just how fattening the mimosas and Cosmos she indulges in at Sunday brunches and her frequent lunches with Clove are, not to mention the wine she has every night.

A half hour later, he sticks his head out the patio door and tells Glimmer that dinner is ready. She lowers her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, even though the April evening sun has already sunken low in the sky, and wordlessly, she closes the magazine, drains the last of her wine and leaves the empty glass on the table beside the lounge chair. She tosses the magazine to the chair, too and walks past him to the kitchen.

He doles out two servings of the stir-fry onto plates and sets them down at the table, where he has already placed an Oriental salad and poured two fresh glasses of wine. He knows her too well; Rooba will find the other wine glass where Glimmer left it when she arrives on Monday if he doesn't bring it inside later himself.

They eat in silence, and Peeta nervously taps his foot against the tile floor, waiting for the right moment to tell her what he has spent the day doing.

"So," he starts, clearing his throat and setting down his fork. "I saw a lawyer today."

She sets down her wine glass, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Oh?"

"Yes." He wipes his mouth with his napkin. "He had some very good advice about taking the installments versus the lump sum and consulting financial advisors and a specialized tax attorney. His partner can handle that." Plutarch had assured Peeta that Paylor is a whiz with tax laws and all sorts of inheritances.

"I hope he talked you out of that idiotic promise you made to that waitress."

"I wasn't looking for him to talk me out of it, Glimmer. But in fact, I asked him about the legality of it, and it seems like it can be enforced as an oral contract."

He sees her porcelain complexion blanch before an angry red blooms over her cheeks. "You're a fucking moron," she spits, rising from her chair and gripping the edge of the table. "I really cannot believe I married such a fool."

He closes his eyes and bites back a retort, allowing her to vent her rage at him.

"Really, Peeta, do you actually think any woman in her right mind would be happy if her husband promised some fucking strange woman half her money? That's _my_ money!" she screeches.

"If you'll let me finish," he says tightly, teeth clenched, "I'll explain how you will indeed have your own money. But the winning ticket is _ours, _Glimmer. It's as much mine as it is yours. Don't forget that."

She narrows her eyes at him, her gaze poisonous. "Go on."

"I did some research on my own. And if we approach this winning ticket as a three-way partnership—"

"Which it shouldn't be," she interrupts in a growl.

"Would you let me finish?" It's getting increasingly more difficult to keep his irritation at bay. "If we endorse the ticket as a partnership, split three ways, then it's a little over two-and-a-quarter-million for each of us." He inhales and prepares the lie on his tongue. "Which is almost five million for you and me." _You. And me. Separate, _he thinks.

Her fingers are locked over the edge of the table so tightly that he can see white leaching over her knuckles, and her hands are visibly shaking. She glowers at him in silence. He coughs and continues. "I went to the lottery offices after leaving the lawyer. I claimed the ticket and listed all three of our names. You and Katniss will also have to go down in person to sign for your shares before anything else can proceed. And our names are going to be released to the media sooner or later, so we should be prepared for that as well. And it's a formality to hold a press conference, so we'll have to do that on Monday morning."

"You actually wrote down her name?" she says, her voice eerily calm and disaffected.

He nods. "It's done."

"You're a piece of work," she hisses. "I can't believe you'd do this without my permission!" Her voice rises an octave. "You can't just give my money away to some stupid waitress!"

"I told you I was doing this, Glimmer. And I didn't give your money away," he replies evenly. "I gave her _her_ money, what was legally hers."

She huffs an exasperated sigh, then lets out a piercing scream that catches him off-guard and lunges forward, slapping him across the face. "Get out of my house!"

He rubs at his cheek, the sting of her palm throbbing faintly under his touch. But before he can utter a word or argue that it's his house too, she storms out of the kitchen and rushes up the staircase. Peeta heaves a sigh and carries his wine glass to the sink. He pours out the rest of the Pinot Grigio and places the glass in the dishwasher. He makes no move to follow her, nor does he intend to leave yet; it's best to let her rage in private and hope they can have a civilized conversation when she calms down a little. He's used to her tantrums by now.

But within minutes, Glimmer reappears in the kitchen, lugging a large Louis Vuitton carryall behind her. "Move your fucking car," she orders. "I can't look at you right now. I'm going to my mother's." She glares at him, and when he doesn't move immediately, she screams, "I said now, Peeta!"

He stares back at her, dumbfounded, shaking his head and locates his keys in the bowl on the counter. He opens the garage, unlocks his car and backs his sedan down the driveway. He's barely reached the street and veered the car to the right when Glimmer's Audi zooms down the driveway and screeches off up the street, the menacing red glow of her taillights fading in the soft twilight.

He returns the car to the garage and reenters the house, quietly clearing the table and loading the dishwasher. With the press of a button, it whirs to life and begins its familiar hum as the rinse cycle begins and he tries to process what has just transpired. He knows while Glimmer is furious, she clearly does not intend to stay away for long. She didn't take enough luggage with her. He's seen her pack three suitcases just for a long weekend. Early in their marriage when they were in the honeymoon phase—which in retrospect did not last long—Peeta often surprised her with short trips to beds-and-breakfasts and nearby spas. He was so eager to be a good husband, to please her, and she was always happy. At first.

But before long when he announced a brief getaway, rather than show excitement or gratitude, she instead would ask why they couldn't go to the islands or on a cruise. And no matter how many times he gently reasoned with her, she never seemed to accept how important getting his restaurant off the ground was to Peeta and that he couldn't be away for long periods of time.

The more he thinks about all the ways he has tried to placate Glimmer in the few years they've been married, the more agitated he becomes. He doesn't usually go for evening runs, but he feels a profound need to burn off some steam and clear his head. So he changes out of his clothes and into his sweats and heads outside. He's barely reached the end of his driveway when the shouts of a woman and the sight of a familiar figure struggling with a massive dog stop him in his tracks.

"Brutus, heel!"

Peeta's mouth quirks up as Katniss passes his driveway, completely oblivious to his presence as she tugs feebly on the choke collar of the huge beast, which Peeta suspects is a Saint Bernard or perhaps one of those Bernese Mountain dogs.

"Hey, stranger," he calls.

Katniss spins around, braid whipping across her face, and her eyes widen as she spies him. "Oh! Peeta. Hey." She is abruptly jerked several yards when the dog decides he or she is not also stopping. "Oof!" she grunts and gives the leash another sharp yank. "Brutus! Bad boy!"

"I thought people were supposed to walk their dogs. Not the other way around," he quips. She exhales loudly, and the gust of air that escapes her lips blows a few stray strands of hair up out of her eyes.

"He's not my dog. He's Gale's."

Gale. Well, there it is. Peeta has been waiting for that name to pop into casual conversation. He knows, of course, that as of a few days ago, Katniss had been dating some guy named Cato, who had definitely sounded like quite an asshole. But now he wonders if she didn't go running right back into Gale Hawthorne's arms for comfort after her break-up with him—not that she seemed all that upset to be rid of the jerk.

Peeta strides towards her and bends down, holding out his palm gently so the dog can sniff him and get accustomed to him. "He's beautiful." The animal starts wagging his wide tail and whimpering excitedly.

"He's naughty," Katniss scowls, glaring down at the dog. "He usually walks so nicely, but the second he sees a squirrel, all bets are off."

"You were just giving Katniss a workout weren't you?" The dog's eyes shine eagerly at the tone of Peeta's voice. "What's his name?"

Katniss rolls her eyes. "Brutus. Doesn't it fit him?"

"Brutus. Hi, Brutus, I'm Peeta." He smiles up at Katniss as the rough pad of the dog's tongue repeatedly swipes across Peeta's outstretched palm. He ruffles Brutus's soft ears with his other hand and sweeps it back over the animal's head. "Can you sit, boy?"

On command, the dog settles back on his large haunches, tail still wagging. Katniss narrows her grey eyes at him. "What are you, the damned Dog Whisperer?"

He laughs and shrugs. "I've always liked animals. Never been able to have a dog. I'd like one, I think. I was even willing to get one of those little yappy things, but…" he trails off, not willing to finish the sentence. He'd rather not bring up Glimmer and ruin the moment. Katniss has already spoken more words directly to him than she did all morning at the restaurant, and he assumes mentioning his wife will just make things awkward again. "Course, I'm not sure I'd get one this big, though. Maybe a Lab or a German Shepherd."

"Yeah, I'm not quite sure what possessed Gale to get this behemoth. He takes up a lot of space. I'd like a dog too, but my apartment doesn't allow them." She bounces on the balls of her heels and glances behind Peeta. "Is this your house?"

He nods. "Uh yeah. Right there." He motions to the tidy little townhome.

"It's nice," she appraises, a tight smile on her lips. And there, just like that, she's keeping her distance again.

"Thanks." He doesn't feel the need to tell Katniss he would rather have had a house with a big backyard that he could have mowed himself, but Glimmer had insisted on living in Victor's Village, where the landscaping was done for them, the lawns were kept trim, and for a small fee, pools and tennis courts and a fitness center were readily available.

An uncomfortable silence prevails between them, and Katniss coughs and clears her throat. Peeta swallows and tries not to notice how the cropped yoga pants sit low on her slender hips, and each time she shifts to adjust her grasp on Brutus's leash, her t-shirt rises just enough to give him a glimpse of her flat, toned stomach. The sight of the small strip of olive skin causes his cock to twitch, and he immediately looks away and thinks about other things. Dogs. Squirrels. Glimmer. There. Potential hard-on gone.

"So, ah, you live around here then?" He figures there can't be many other logical explanations for why she'd be walking a dog through his subdivision.

"No, actually I don't," she replies. "Gale and his brother, Vick, live in the apartment complex right over there." She points to a large network of buildings just visible between the stand of leafy elm trees across the street. Peeta passes those apartments every morning on his jogging route.

"Oh, I, uh, didn't realize they lived so close. We're practically neighbors, huh?" It's a lame reply, and he cringes because conversation usually comes so easily to him. The effect Katniss Everdeen has on him is unnerving. The unsettled tension between them isn't helping either.

"Gale just moved back here. Got a job in the mayor's office."

"Wait, isn't Vick the youngest Hawthorne boy? How is he grown up already? Or do I have them mixed up?" He laughs dryly. "Now I guess I know why people confused me with my brothers from time to time."

Katniss nods. "Yeah, Vick's the youngest. Rory is the middle one. He's in grad school for engineering. Has an apartment near the university, near Prim, actually. About an hour from here. Vick graduated from high school last year, and he's working at Abernathy's until he decides what he wants to do with his life."

"And he's living with his brother?"

"Actually it's the other way around. Vick wanted some space. Guess it cramps your style bringing home girls when you live with your mom and your sister. He got his own place right after he graduated. So when Gale came back home, he moved in with Vick. Probably just until he can find a bigger place of his own. Probably one with her."

"Her?" he asks.

"His girlfriend."

Peeta can't tell if the way she says "her" suggests Katniss harbors any residual feelings for her ex, or if she doesn't like Gale's girlfriend. Or both. Or nothing. Maybe he's reading too much into things, and either way, it's probably none of his business. Still, he's definitely happy to learn that she's not seeking solace from Gale Hawthorne. "You don't like her?" he probes.

Her mercury eyes flash imperceptibly. "She's fine." She shrugs. "But she's why I'm walking this beast tonight. They went away for the week. Barbados. They've gotten pretty serious. At least, I think going away together is getting serious. It's a big step in a relationship. Vick is closing Abernathy's tonight so I told him I'd make sure Brutus got fed and walked."

He hides a smile. "Well, that's really sweet of you." It's the most that she's spoken to him; he can't help but find her sudden rambling adorable.

And she continues. "You probably remember her, actually. Gale's girlfriend, that is. She was in our class. Madge Undersee."

Peeta nods. "Yeah, I remember her. Huh. How did that happen?"

Katniss opens her mouth to speak again, but the dog begins to whine and paw at her feet. She heaves a sigh. "Okay. Okay." She pushes her braid back over her shoulder. "We should get going on the rest of our walk here before this monster drags me off and someone finds my body in a ditch somewhere."

"Oh, okay. It was nice meeting you, Brutus." He's disappointed, and he wishes he didn't have to say goodbye to her. He pats the dog's broad head again, and the animal nuzzles his hand.

"I guess I'll see you on Monday." She gives a little wave and sets off up the street. Peeta tries not to ogle the perfect curve of her ass in the yoga pants as she walks away, but his eyes linger there for more than a few seconds. He feels his cock stir again; he's going to need his post-run shower to be a cold one tonight.

As much as he laments her leaving, it's probably better that he's not seen by any of his nosy neighbors, carrying on a conversation with a beautiful woman right in front of his house. It looks innocent enough to a casual observer, of course, but there are some busybodies in the neighborhood. Peeta is convinced old Mrs. Blight, the widow next-door, has had it in for him since he accidentally ran over a bed of her prized geraniums last spring. Surprisingly, she had been less concerned that he had swerved to avoid her beloved Pomerian, who had gotten off his lead again.

He stretches his calves, about to jog off in the opposite direction that Katniss just went when he hears her voice again. "Peeta?"

Turning to face her, he sees her stopped in front of a house a few doors down, still struggling with Brutus's leash. "Yeah?" he replies.

She gives him a shy smile and motions down at the dog. "Brutus thought maybe you'd like to join us for the rest of our walk?"

He hesitates and feels a tug at his heart. If standing in front of his house conversing with Katniss looked suspicious, how bad would it look if he walked a dog through the neighborhood with her? Walking a dog is such a 'couples thing' to do, he thinks wistfully, and as appealing as it sounds to be in Katniss's company for the next twenty minutes or so, it's not a good idea. Not after what just went down with Glimmer, not if he wants as clean a break from his wife as possible. He can't take any chances.

Katniss stares at him expectantly. Brutus straining at his leash again, and she's clearly waiting for an answer. He hates to say no to her but reluctantly, he gives a short shake of his head. "Thanks, Katniss. I shouldn't." He wants to say more, wants to tell her why, but even at the short distance, he sees her face fall, and her eyes quickly dart down to the dog.

"Okay," she replies tersely. "See you Monday then." She turns her back and brusquely walks away, the dog trotting obediently at her side.

Peeta instantly regrets turning her down, as much as he knows it was the right thing to do. At the very least, he could explain things a little better. And he could tell her about the ticket now. He wonders if she'll even _want_ her new job now that she's officially a millionaire and likely doesn't _need_ it.

"Katniss!" he calls.

But she doesn't stop; she doesn't even flinch. He watches her round the corner, her pace brisk, until she disappears beyond a row of hedges that border the entrance to his community. "Fuck." He shakes his head and considers running after her. But he decides against it and then abandons the idea of jogging altogether. He heads back inside the house, grabs a Sam Adams from the fridge and goes into his office, locking the door behind him.

And then he settles at his desk and begins to thumb through the documents he had Plutarch prepare that afternoon.

* * *

_Thanks for reading. I'd love to hear from you on your thoughts for this chapter—they fuel my creative fire._


	7. Chapter 7

_**Author's Note: **_I'm happy that so many readers are excited about the developments in Chapter 6. We are back to Katniss's point of view in this chapter. Thank you so much for all the reviews, follows and favorites—again, hearing from readers means so much to _all _writers.

THG belongs to Suzanne Collins.

Thank you to ILoveRynMar for all your help on this chapter; thanks to Jeeno2 for her expert legal advice. Happy Birthday to my dear friend, Pookieh. Hope it was a great one.

This is a longer chapter than usual, so enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 7-Saturday, April 18****th**

_**(Katniss)**_

Katniss lurches upright in bed and glances over at the bedside clock._ Four-twenty-two a.m. _

She swipes her palm across her damp, sweaty forehead and struggles to find her breath while her heart beats erratically. That's the third time this week—in two days, actually, if she's being honest.

She had never had a sex dream before two nights ago—not once in all her twenty-five years. Nor has she ever pictured anything other than a faceless man when she pleasures herself, something she has been doing with alarming frequency lately.

She falls back against the mattress, her lungs drawing quick, shallow gasps, willing her pulse to return to normal. She closes her eyes and the sensations from the vivid dream come flooding back: the feel of his mouth claiming hers, his tongue swirling over her heated skin, trailing a path from her throat to her navel; his hands palming her breasts, his thumbs bringing her nipples to taut peaks; his fingers exploring the wet folds between her legs—she imagines that he is quite gifted with his touch since after all, he is a cook. And she can almost hear her own blissful cries as he thrusts into her and her name spills sibilantly from his fevered lips. _Katnissssss._

_Shit, stop it, you idiot, _she scolds herself, cheeks flaming as the dampness gathers in her panties again. _Not real. Not real._

These repeated reveries completely rattle her in spite of how intensely pleasurable the memories are. She should _not_ be fantasizing about Peeta Mellark—consciously or subconsciously.

And yet she can't stop thinking about him.

She had chalked up the first dream to the alcohol flowing through her veins. She and Johanna had knocked back three pitchers of margaritas between the two of them Thursday night when they had gone to Rosalita's, Jo's favorite Mexican watering hole, and she figured her lowered inhibitions, coupled with the prospect of seeing Peeta at the restaurant the next morning, were to blame for her inappropriate thoughts.

The second one had startled her awake from a nap yesterday afternoon. She had finished up her orientation at Thirteen-12, which had been sort of an uncomfortable experience, what with her erotic dream of Peeta so fresh in her mind. She had tried her best to be professional and not make any gestures or overt advances that could possibly be misconstrued. But when she had gotten home and laid down to rest before heading over to grab Brutus, she had no sooner surrendered to a light slumber than she was sitting up on the couch, panting heavily, Peeta's name on her lips as she fought off an incredibly realistic visual of his blond head between her legs, bringing her to orgasm with his able tongue.

And now this morning's fantasy brings the total to three. She struggles to close her eyes, fearing another intimate vision will assault her. She can't keep doing this to herself. Peeta is a married man, and she has no claim to him no matter how much he smiles at her or how much her blood sizzles in his presence or how much she desperately wants to know what his lips would feel like on hers.

Besides, he had turned down her company last night. Her mouth tugs down as she recalls being rejected, though really, it's unfair of her to have expected him to say yes. And yet, he still wormed his way into her dreams.

After tossing and turning for almost an hour, she gives up trying to go back to sleep. With a frustrated groan, she throws back the tangled sheets and flicks on the small lamp beside her bed. She quickly sheds the camisole and boxer shorts that pass as her pajamas these days—no point investing in fancy lingerie or sleepwear when no one else is going to see it— and dresses in her jogging gear. Then she laces her sneakers, snaps a rubber band around her long locks, grabs her iPod and tucks her key into her sock before quietly exiting her apartment to begin her run.

She's not sure what possesses her to venture nearly two miles out of her usual route, but without realizing it, she discovers she's just passed Gale and Vick's apartment complex and is now just a few streets over from Peeta's neighborhood.

_You're a fool, _her conscience taunts again.

But her feet have a different opinion, and her sneakers slap the pavement rhythmically as she heads in the direction she walked Gale's dog last night.

The horizon has lightened considerably since she left her apartment, and the streetlights on Peeta's street have gone out, casting the houses in a hazy glow from the steadily rising sun. She holds her breath and slows her pace as she approaches Peeta's home. His car is in the driveway, and the house appears dark. She supposes that owning a restaurant allows him to set fairly flexible hours, and thus, he's probably still in his bed, peacefully dozing beside his wife. She tamps down the pang of jealousy that nags at her when the mental image hits her. Maybe he's not asleep. Maybe at this moment, he's inside his bedroom, making love to his perfect blonde wife with the stupid name.

When she was dating Gale he _always_ seemed to wake up hard, though by the time she had finally started sleeping with him, they only had a handful of occasions to actually benefit from his morning wood before she had broken up with him.

But she can't imagine waking up next to Peeta Mellark, spooned in the warmth of his arms, his erection pressed against her ass, and _not_ wanting to have sex with him—no matter what time of the day. No, she imagines how impossibly good it would feel to have his hot breath at her ear, coaxing her legs apart and cradling her from behind as he pushes into her. Her stomach swoops, and she shakes the image from her mind because now she's actively fantasizing about him, and it's not her that he does these things with. And it's never _going_ to be. Her heart twists with envy again, and with one last wistful glance, she hastens her pace and tears up the street.

When she arrives back at her apartment and showers, she nobly fights the urge to touch herself under the warm spray, lathering both her body and her hair as fast as she can. Her body desperately craves a release, but she knows she would not be able to keep her mind off Peeta while doing so, and her shame wins out. She shuts off the water, towels off and dresses for the day.

She has the sudden urge to talk to her sister. Not because she can truly tell him the things that she's been feeling for Peeta Mellark (she wonders how much Prim even remembers about him from years ago) but because Prim always has a way of making Katniss feel better about herself and whatever funk she's lingering in at any given time.

Besides, her sister never called her back after Katniss left her that message on Thursday. It's rare, almost unheard of, for the Everdeen sisters to go more than a day or two without talking, whether it's on the phone or via text message.

Katniss knits her brows and picks up her cell phone, fingers poised to tap out a quick text, but then she thinks again and presses the button for Prim. She waits for the call to connect. It rings several times before she hears a click followed by hushed whispers. "Hey, Kat."

"Hey, yourself, Little Duck." Katniss frowns, listening carefully to the muffled sounds on Prim's end of the phone. "What's wrong?" she asks, instantly suspicious.

"What? Oh, nothing. It's just early, that's all. Is something wrong?"

It _is _Saturday, and just because she couldn't sleep and has already run, showered and changed, she realizes that it's barely six in the morning and most of the rest of the world prefers to lounge around in bed on the weekend–her little sister included.

She sighs. "Sorry, Prim. I guess I forgot that not only is it early, it's Saturday."

"S'okay," Prim mumbles, and Katniss hears a yawn. "You never call this early, so I figured something must be wrong. What's up?"

"Nothing's wrong, I promise. And it's nothing that can't wait. I just thought maybe you'd want to chat. It's been a few days since we talked, and I've got a lot to tell you." She pauses. "I could even hop on the train and come up there for the day, if you'd like. It might be a nice distraction."

"What do you need distraction from?" Prim's voice is heavy with sleep, and there's more garbled noise on her line. And then there is a clear sneeze. A distinct _masculine_ sneeze. And a quiet 'fuck' that definitely doesn't come from Prim.

Katniss sucks in a breath as the understanding hits her. "Primrose Everdeen, do you have a guy in your bed?"

"What? No! No, Katniss. Uh, that was the cat."

Katniss snorts disdainfully. Prim's decrepit old tabby cat, Buttercup, may cough up his share of furballs, but she knows what she heard. There is a prolonged silence.

"Katniss?" Prim finally asks timidly.

"Prim, you're a grown woman. I think we're past the stage where you need to keep your, um" —she can't believe she's going to say this aloud—"your sex life from me. If you've met a guy, that's great. I just hope you're being safe."

A loud groan punctuates the line. "Can we not have this conversation right now?"

"Fine. But will you please call me when you're up and conscious and your overnight guest is gone?"

"Okay," she replies meekly.

"Good. Bye, Prim." She disconnects the call and tosses her cell phone onto the couch. And then she sinks down and buries her face in her hands.

When did her sister start keeping secrets from her? The thought actually upsets Katniss; usually, she and Prim tell each other everything, especially about guys. Prim was there for her when she had broken up with Gale, and she has known all about every loser Katniss had dated since.

Prim had been popular in school, and there had been any number of boys who had wanted to date her, but she had always been more concerned about making good grades and getting into college than having a boyfriend. Katniss knew she had gone out with a few guys since she'd been at college, and Prim had told her about every one of them. But the notion that Prim was serious enough about anyone that she _hadn't _been mentioned was disconcerting. Prim wouldn't be prone to one-night stands, would she?

Regardless, the fact remains that her little sister is getting more action than she is. She sighs and wishes it wasn't so damn early. With Prim indisposed, she could use a healthy dose of Johanna. But her best friend is likely already on shift at Cray's, and hell will freeze over before Katniss sets foot in that dump ever again.

Grabbing her phone once more, she types out a quick message to Jo asking her to give her a call when she gets off work and hits send. To her surprise, within seconds, the phone rings shrilly, and Johanna's name appears on the screen.

"What's up, Brainless?" Johanna asks when Katniss answers the call.

"Why aren't you at work?"

Johanna laughs. "I've worked eight days straight. Even prostitutes take a day off from time to time."

"So why are you up then? And how are you so damn chipper? This is so not like you."

"Funny thing. When you get up at five a.m. every day, your body apparently is programmed to wake up at the fucking crack of dawn whether you need to be or not. So I figured I'd go to the gym and kick-box out some of my pent up aggression from the week."

Katniss glances at the clock. It's now quarter to seven. "What time is the class?"

"Seven-fifteen."

"You want to meet me for coffee or something around eight-thirty?"

There is a brief silence on the other end of the phone. "Shit, Katniss, normally I'd love to but—" She hesitates, and the fact that Johanna uses her actual name is telling.

"But," Katniss probes.

Johanna draws a loud breath. "I'm going to the class with someone. And then we're getting breakfast together."

"Oh. Is this someone a guy?" It's not a question. She knows it is; Johanna's tone betrays any chance that it's not.

"Uh, yeah."

"That's great, Jo. Details?"

"I met him last night. I went out with Foxface for a drink, you know, to be nice and shit, since now she's all I have at work. And this guy is an assistant manager at this place that she suggested. Got some numbers in the name—"

She freezes. "Was it Thirteen-12?"

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"That's Peeta's restaurant." She curses her stomach for flip-flopping at his name again. She feels about fourteen when it does that—which seems to be all the time lately.

"No shit! You didn't tell me that was Golden Boy's place. The place where you start work on Monday?"

"The one and the same," she agrees. "I'm pretty sure I told you the name when we went out the other night, Jo."

"Fuck, Everdeen. You're lucky I remembered _my_ name after how much I drank that night. As I recall, someone was a lightweight and gave up after the second pitcher."

"Sorry I'm not as much of a lush as you are," Katniss teases and pauses. "So is it Thom or Thresh?" Both of Peeta's assistant managers are tall and handsome, and she thinks Johanna would look rather nice with either man. And both seem like great guys.

"Huh? Oh, it's Thresh."

"Well, he's really nice what I know of him so far," she appraises. "Go have fun, and we can talk later."

Katniss can practically hear the grin in Johanna's voice. "Thanks, Brainless. I will."

Before they hang up, Johanna suggests dinner at the little French bistro she knows Katniss likes so much, but she regretfully declines, having promised Haymitch she'd work at Abernathy's tonight. Jo counters offers with tomorrow afternoon after her own shift at Cray's, and they make plans to meet for brunch at one.

After hanging up the phone, Katniss flops onto the couch, throwing an arm carelessly over her eyes to shield them from the early morning sun flooding the apartment in spite of the blinds on her living room window. There are more slats missing than in place anymore, and she makes a mental note to finally bite the bullet and get new ones to put up.

Prim. Johanna. Gale. It seems as if everyone important in her life has someone at the moment. She should be happy for her sister, for her friends. Besides, she has never been one to feel that she has to have a man in her life to be complete.

She closes her eyes, the lure of going back to sleep threatening to draw her under, but just as she feels her breathing slow and conscious thoughts begin to slip away—hopefully staying far away from one Peeta Mellark—her phone trills obnoxiously. It's still on the generic ring that was preset by the company, and without her customized ring tones she's forced to peek at the screen to see who is disturbing her slumber.

She doesn't recognize the number. It's likely a telemarketer, though it's ridiculously early—even for them. She answers it anyway.

"Is this Katniss Everdeen?"

She doesn't recognize the voice, but it's also distinctly human, not just some robotic prerecorded message. "Who's calling?"

"This is Effie Trinket with the _Panem Post Gazette._ It's my understanding that you are one of the winners of the PowerBall drawing that was held this past Tuesday. Can you confirm?"

She drops the phone. Her jaw follows. In the midst of all her fantasizing about Peeta Mellark and trying to remain composed around him, she has completely forgotten about the lottery ticket. But apparently, Peeta has not. And furthermore, he seems to have gone ahead and followed through on their deal on his own. How else can she explain why a newspaper reporter would have her name and be asking her about winning the lotto?

Katniss hears the shrill voice emanating from the phone, which lies on the throw rug where it fell. "Hello? Hello?" She numbly reaches for it and puts it back to her ear.

"Yes, I'm here," she stammers, her heart racing.

"Oh, good. As I was saying, I'm with the _Panem Post Gazette_, and I'd love to talk with you about your big, big, big win!"

"Sorry, no comment." It's the only thing she can manage, and she presses 'talk' to end the call. She's in no way prepared to speak to anyone about this yet.

Except Peeta. She needs to talk to Peeta. And it's too early for that. She has no business calling his cell phone this early and disturbing him at home. If she were Peeta's wife, she would not be happy if a woman called her husband at this hour—especially the one who he gave a large chunk of money away to. She could feasibly use the work excuse, but she doesn't want to put Peeta in any worse position than he might already be in because of her.

She debates the etiquette of texting him instead. That could be innocent enough, she supposes. Plus, she can make it sound like she's asking about work. So she grabs her phone and locates his contact information, typing out the text, asking him to please give her a call when he has a moment to answer a question for her.

Giving up on the idea of napping, she decides to grab something to eat, and she has just decided to walk to her favorite little café when the phone rings again. Another unknown number. This time, it's a masculine voice. "Is this Katniss Everdeen?"

"No comment," she repeats and hangs up.

Almost immediately, the phone rings again. Without even glancing at the screen, she hits 'talk' and growls, "I said no comment."

Fortunately, she hears his voice a second before her finger can end the call. "Katniss! Wait!"

She swallows and exhales. "Peeta?"

"Yeah. What's wrong? Are you okay?" He sounds genuinely concerned, and she's still too stunned to fully process the fact that he has returned her call so soon. "Katniss, I got your message. Is this a bad time?"

"What? Um, no, no. I mean, I texted you, so it's not a bad time at all for me. Thanks for calling back so quickly. I didn't really want to bother you at home," she starts, sitting down on the couch to gather her thoughts.

"You're no bother. But can I ask to what you were saying no comment?" he asks.

"It's uh, actually why I called." She bites her lip. "Can you talk? I mean, your wife—"

He answers immediately. "I can talk. It's fine." He pauses. "Is it something we can talk about on the phone, or did you—ah, I mean—did you want to see me?"

He can't know what a loaded question that is given how much he's been on her mind the past few days. She contemplates it for a moment before sighing softly and gazing out the window. "I got a phone call this morning from a reporter."

A quiet breath is audible before he says, "Oh."

"And then I had a second phone call," she continues, "and I figure this means you went ahead and claimed the ticket. You shouldn't have done it, Peeta."

"Shouldn't have claimed seven million dollars?"

She laughs sharply, shaking her head though she knows he can't see her exasperation at his facetiousness. "You know what I'm talking about."

"I spoke to a lawyer, Katniss. We had an oral contract. I owed you that money."

"You _owe_ me nothing," she says curtly.

He sighs. "Wrong word. I meant it's your money too, Katniss. And I can explain everything, I promise." There was the _other_ word again: promise. "I'm sorry your name already got out to the press. Reporters are tenacious, huh?" She stays quiet, listening to his breathing through the phone. "Can I see you? It's better to explain this all in person, really."

She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth and closes her eyes. "I could come in a little earlier than ten on Monday. Is that good?"

"Well, see, there's kind of a press conference set up for Monday morning. I agreed to it yesterday when I was at the lottery offices. They said it was a formality. I just didn't think the information would leak out to the press so quickly. I kind of figured I had today to get a hold of you and fill you in," he finishes sheepishly.

"Well, I'm closing tonight for my uncle. I can talk then if you want to come by," she replies, though she knows a crowded bar is not ideal for a serious conversation.

"I was thinking more along the lines of picking you up, taking you to lunch and going with you to sign for your share of the ticket."

Her eyes fly open. "What?" It sounds suspiciously like a date, and she chides herself for the little thrill that spirals through her.

He must realize it too. "I, uh, I mean, I figure we both eat lunch, right, and we need to talk so…"

"We could have talked last night if you had gone for a walk with me." _Shit. _The accusation leaps from her lips before she can contain it, and she curses herself for voicing it. She knows she probably had put him in a bad position, inviting him to walk with her and the dog when he has a wife who was no doubt waiting inside for him to return from an innocent run.

"It didn't cross my mind, honestly. I was a little distracted. I'm sorry I couldn't join you last—"

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Forget I said it." She pauses. How about, um, a compromise? I have to close the bar tonight for my uncle. We could meet for dinner at four, if you don't have other plans, and we can talk before my shift starts at six. You can get back to me if you need to check with your wife, and—"

This time, he cuts her off. "I'll be there. See you then."

* * *

She tries to keep herself busy for the rest of the morning and early afternoon. After her phone rings for the fourth time _since_ her call from Peeta, she silences it and resorts to quick glances at it periodically to see if she's missed a call from Prim. She runs a few errands—the grocery store among them—and tries not to think about the fact that for all intents and purposes, she is now a millionaire. But she still uses a few coupons at the checkout and avoids the temptation to stop and get herself a four-dollar latte on the walk back to her apartment. It just seems too surreal to be true.

But if it is true—if Peeta has really split his windfall with her—she doesn't know what she will do first. The possibilities literally make her head spin, and she truly feels dizzy. Hoisting the reusable grocery totes higher on her shoulder, she stumbles and places a hand out to steady herself on the nearest lamppost.

Three-and-a-half million dollars. She's never had more than three _hundred_ dollars in her checking account. Most of what she has goes into a meager savings account from which Prim's tuition is drawn. The little that remains pays rent and utilities and gives her a very lean social life.

But _three-and-a-half million dollars._ It boggles her mind. As she fumbles with her key and struggles with the ancient lock on the outer door to her apartment building, she decides it would be nice to have a place of her own. Maybe a small townhome, one like Peeta's, where she could have a little backyard and a garage.

And a car. She could get a car. A _new _one. Her _own _car. She and Prim made do with their mother's ancient, rusty Honda Civic after she died, but the car, too, gave up shortly after Tressa Everdeen did. And then when Prim headed to college, the train was a feasible enough option for her to get back and forth from home to school, and Katniss didn't much mind walking from place to place.

_And Prim!_ she thinks with a start. Prim, who graduates from college in a few short months and has wistfully been discussing grad school and med school. Prim, who can now consider any college or university in the country! Hell, she can go to Oxford or the Sorbonne. Her giddiness at her sister's reaction has her reaching for her phone, checking again to see if Prim has phoned back, even if she knows she can't really tell Prim anything until she talks to Peeta.

Katniss throws her weight against the door, which has a tendency to stick, and she catches herself from falling as she staggers into the small vestibule where she checks her mail before heading up the few flights to her tiny apartment. Once inside, she deposits the groceries on the counter and quickly checks her phone.

Six missed calls. Five of them have gone to voicemail. The sixth is Prim's number. She did not leave a voicemail. But it's then she sees the 'message' icon displaying a 'two' and sees both are from Prim.

_Little Duck: WTF Kat! did I just hear your name on the news? Call me now!_

_Little Duck: Katniss, dammit, call me back. _

Or it's entirely possible Prim, as well as the rest of Panem, already knows by now. She calls Prim back immediately and busies herself putting away the groceries while she impatiently waits for her sister to answer.

"Did you win the lottery?" she screeches in Katniss's ear before she can utter a greeting.

"Um, maybe. Where did you hear that?"

"Holy fuck, Katniss!"

"Prim!" Katniss can't recall hearing her sister swear much before. But then again, before that morning, she didn't think her sister was having sex either. She's so naïve when it comes to Prim.

"I didn't hear it. Rory did. He said it was on the news, and you won like, a couple hundred million dollars! Why am I just now hearing about this?"

Katniss laughs and closes the refrigerator, folding up her reusable bags and shoving them back in the drawer next to the sink. "Um, Rory needs to get his facts straight."

"So tell me the facts, Katniss! Shit! I mean, is this really the kind of news my boy—"

Prim catches herself, but not fast enough. Katniss knows what she was about to say, and she knows now without a doubt that Rory Hawthorne was the guy in Prim's bed that morning.

"I'll tell you my news when you tell me yours," she teases, imagining her sister's pale complexion stained crimson with embarrassment. There is a loud sigh before Prim speaks again and confesses to Katniss that she and Rory decided not long after Christmas to take their friendship one step further.

Katniss can't say she's surprised. She's long suspected that Prim had a thing for Rory, and if her sister is going to be sleeping with anyone, at least she trusts Gale's brother implicitly. And they do make a cute couple.

Prim listens quietly as Katniss relates the whole complicated mess that is her supposed lottery winnings. When she finishes, Prim stays silent for a few moments.

"Peeta Mellark, huh?"

"That's all you have to say?" she exclaims. "What about him?"

Prim laughs airily. "Oh my god, Katniss, you're so dense sometimes. That guy had such a crush on you in high school."

Katniss feels her mouth go dry as she tries to swallow and squeak out a strangled, "What?"

"Everyone knew it except you. _Gale_ knew it."

She doesn't even know how to begin processing this information. Peeta Mellark had a crush on her? She closes her eyes and braces her hands against the counter as she remembers the biology paper he handed in for her years ago. _Did_ he like her then? Is _that_ why he did it?

It can't be. Though their interaction was minimal and largely insignificant, if Peeta Mellark had truly liked her, he had _had_ opportunities to ask her out. There was that project they worked on together sophomore year, and as juniors, they shared biology class. He frequently swam at the pool where she lifeguarded, often showing up with a large group of friends—and she knew this socialization was more likely the reason he chose the public pool over the one at the country club to which she knew his family belonged.

And he had had girlfriends. There were always girls ogling him and hanging around his locker, and she knows he dated Delly Cartwright for a bit and then Bristel Tyler all through senior year. Blonde, bubbly, sickeningly sweet Delly. Blonde, tall, athletically-gifted Bristel. The exact opposites of her. And considering the physical attributes of Peeta's wife, she deduces that he has an obvious type, and she is the farthest thing from it.

"You're being ridiculous, Prim," she scoffs. "He did not have a crush on me, and did you not listen to a word I said? He's married. You should see his wife. She looks like a supermodel."

"I'm just saying, Katniss. It wasn't really a secret the way he looked at you. I noticed it every time we went in that deli." She coughs softly. "Peeta looked at you the way I finally realized Rory has been looking at me for years."

Katniss sighs and closes her eyes. "Whatever you think you saw back then, Prim, the past is the past. I know for certain that he is very married, and what he did for me is just vintage Peeta. He's simply a really nice guy."

Prim snorts. "Nice. That's such a bland word. He's giving you half of his lottery winnings. If Rory did that to some girl he supposedly randomly met in a diner, I'd definitely question his motives—right after I sliced off his balls."

Prim's insinuations regarding Peeta are starting to make her uncomfortable, so she tries to steer the subject away from him. "So when am I going to sit down and give Rory the talk about treating you right and not breaking my sister's heart?"

"Oh my gosh, don't you dare, Katniss!"

"Okay, you're right, I'll let Haymitch do it."

"No!" Prim squeals. "Okay, okay. How about next Saturday? We could spend the day together and I can ask Rory to join us. Does that work for you?"

Katniss grins. "It's a date."

* * *

"What are you doing here so early? You're not on til six," Haymitch calls as she walks through the front door of Abernathy's a little before four.

Katniss nods and claims a small two-person booth near the far corner of the bar, knowing from experience it tends to be quieter in that part of the pub, away from the billiards tables and dartboards. Then she reconsiders. Is a two-person booth too intimate? She eyes the larger booths further back and then wonders if she should just sit down at a table. But then what if he sits down beside her?

"Sweetheart? What gives?"

She glances up at her uncle, who is drying a pint glass and giving her a suspicious look. "Ah, nothing. I'm, uh, meeting someone here for dinner before my shift starts. We have something to discuss."

Haymitch snorts, places the glass back in its row and reaches for another. "Are you wearing lipstick?"

"It's lip gloss," she snaps, tossing her bag to the bench of the small booth. "My lips are chapped."

"Uh, huh." The knowing smirk on his face clearly says he doesn't believe her. "Who's the someone?"

She purses her lips. "Peeta Mellark."

"No shit!" He laughs loudly enough to irritate her. She stalks over to the bar and leans on the edge of the beveled wood.

"Why is that so funny?"

Haymitch's face softens, and he scratches at his chin. "That guy had it so bad for you when you were kids, and I guess I just think it's kind of amusing it took him this long to finally ask you out."

She gapes at him and allows his words to wash over her. Was she really so blind to Peeta's affections in high school? "It's not a date, Haymitch. I told you, we have something to discuss. Don't you listen to the news like the rest of this nosy town?"

"The news is for people who want to be reminded just how shitty this world is."

"Peeta won the lottery. And long story short, he kind of promised me half his winnings."

It's Haymitch's turn to gape. His jaw clenches imperceptibly, and a small muscle in his cheek twitches. "Say what?"

Katniss slides onto a bar stool and proceeds to regale her uncle with the entire drama of the lottery ticket. She also fills him in on Peeta's marital status and emphasizes that therefore, their meeting is most certainly _not_ a date. Haymitch listens quietly, the occasional snort or grunt of disbelief peppering her monologue. When she finishes, she waits expectantly for his reaction. He's always good for blunt honesty.

But he just smiles at her and says, "I hope this doesn't mean I'm gonna lose my best bartender now that you're a fancy rich girl."

She shakes her head and smiles back at him. "I could never completely abandon Abernathy's. You know that."

He gestures at the door with a nod. "Your benefactor just walked in."

Katniss swivels on the stool and can't suppress the upward pull of her lips at the sight of Peeta. A royal blue tee shirt fits snugly over his muscled physique and his worn jeans are effortlessly casual. He gives her a bright smile and a little wave as he crosses the bar and stops beside her.

"Hey, you," he says softly, and her stomach spirals when he fixes those eyes on her, eyes that, because of the shirt, seem even bluer tonight.

"Hi," she returns. "You know my Uncle Haymitch?"

"He's served me on a few occasions, yes. Hi, Mr. Abernathy."

Haymitch reaches over the bar and shakes Peeta's hand. "It's Haymitch. Good to see you again. Get you a beer?"

"Sure."

"You gotta preference?" he asks as he pulls a frosted glass from the freezer.

"You've got that good microbrew, right? I'll take a lager."

Katniss leans over and grabs the soda gun and fills a tumbler with Coke as Haymitch hands Peeta his beer. "We're gonna go talk." She grabs two menus from the bar and leads Peeta to the cozy booth. As they get settled, she inconspicuously adjusts the tight black shirt that is standard attire for the female bartenders at Abernathy's (there are only two, and one is her). The plunging-vee neckline gives a view of her modest cleavage, more enhanced on nights she tends bar with an expensive push-up bra that she justified as a business expense. To her dismay, his eyes never leave her face.

They make polite chitchat as they study the menu, though Katniss eats the same thing before every shift—a BLT on toasted rye with extra bacon and fries. When the waiter (a kid named Owen who she doesn't know well since she rarely works a day shift) comes over to take their order, Peeta grins at her.

"What?" she asks suspiciously.

"Nothing. I just like a woman who orders real food." It brings a blush to her cheeks.

"I, uh, like to eat." _Shit_, she thinks. Why did she say that?

"Well it doesn't show," he replies, with a wink. "Must be all that dog walking."

"I actually run a lot," she confesses, knowing he must also be a runner since he was dressed the part last night when their paths crossed.

"Maybe you could use a running partner some morning then?"

She swallows because the thought of running alongside Peeta Mellark, getting all sweaty with him, overwhelms her senses. And she knows she shouldn't think about him in that way. Still, she hears herself stammer out, "Sure."

He grins again then clears his throat. "So, ah, I guess we should talk about the ticket."

"Yeah, we should." She picks at the beverage napkin, beginning to pull off tiny pieces of the paper. "I still can't believe this is real."

His eyes gleam. "You're softening."

"You've been pretty persistent," she shoots back playfully, turning his words on him. He laughs. "So tell me what I need to do to claim this windfall."

It's a struggle for her to focus as Peeta begins to explain the logistics of the way the ticket will be divided. For one thing, the legal terms are a little overwhelming. And then, of course, there's the hypnotic lure of those eyes of his, locked on hers so earnestly. But Peeta is patient with her and answers her questions calmly, never once getting annoyed with her for asking him to repeat things more than once.

"So it's being split three ways?" she asks again. Peeta nods and takes a long sip of his beer.

"I know it's not half the ticket, which is what I told you it would be. It's more complicated than I thought it would be."

She smiles dryly. "You couldn't have anticipated this."

"No, you're right." He sighs. "My lawyer actually suggested keeping you out of the whole thing and just gifting you half of my share, which would have amounted to a quarter of the winnings—"

"I think this is where I keep getting confused, Peeta," she interjects. "The ticket belongs to you. You and your wife. Why do you keep saying 'your share'?"

His finger is absently drawing circles through the condensation on his glass, and his mouth twitches, as he appears to be considering his next words carefully. "I guess this is where I tell you about my marriage."

Her pulse thrums in her veins as she waits for him to continue, and her stomach clenches tightly. He appears nervous, and Katniss can't recall a time she ever saw his composure faltering like this. The uncertainty in the air is momentarily quelled when their food arrives, but Peeta doesn't touch his burger, and she realizes after a large bite of her sandwich that he's watching her more intently than before.

"The reason I'm claiming my share separately from Glimmer's is because I'm ending my marriage."

She wishes she hadn't taken such a big bite of her BLT when the shock of his confession causes her to gasp and the food she had been chewing gets prematurely sucked into her esophagus. A violent coughing spell seizes her and her eyes begin to water. Peeta's face contorts with concern.

"Katniss, are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah," she sputters. "Food went down the wrong pipe." She takes a long sip from her Coke and swallows carefully. Her heart is suddenly racing, and she feels nauseous. He's ending his marriage? "Did you just say you're getting a divorce?"

He drags a French fry through the mound of ketchup on his plate and nods. "I think so. I had my lawyer prepare papers yesterday. I just need to file them with the county clerk and then have her served with them."

The pit in her stomach is rapidly widening to a chasm. "Does this have to do with the money? With what you did for me?" she asks quietly, her voice cracking. She knows she is an awful person for the foolish thought that has begun to lace sinuously through her mind, that what Prim and Haymitch have told her about Peeta having a crush on her might still be true. What kind of a sadist could be happy at potentially breaking up a marriage?

He drops the fry and shakes his head vehemently, his eyes widening with sympathy. He reaches across the table and covers her hand with his. "No! No, no, Katniss. God, please don't think this is your fault! My marriage has been in trouble for a really long time. I was just in denial that something I had wanted so badly was failing so miserably." He coughs softly. "I'm, ah, not used to failure. I didn't want to see that I failed at something as important as marriage." He looks so crestfallen that her heart aches for him, and she wants more than anything to hug him, to comfort him.

"I'm sure your wife isn't entirely blameless," she says gently. She takes a breath and rotates their hands so she can stroke his hand with her thumb. "Marriages take two people to make them work. I don't know her or anything, but I know you are one of the nicest guys I know and…" She trails off when Peeta pulls his hand back and rakes it through his hair. She flushes, slightly embarrassed that she was touching him in such an innocent, but still intimate way. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"Don't apologize," he interjects, his voice soft but thick. "I just don't think we should be seen…you know."

"Did you want to talk about it? I'm a good listener."

He stares at her, and she looks down at her sandwich, wishing she hadn't offered. He probably thinks she's rude for trying to pry into his marital troubles. But to her surprise, he drains the last of his beer and begins to tell her about how he met Glimmer, how they fell in love (she can't help that her stomach twists with jealousy even though he leaves out the truly intimate details) and how they married, even though most of his family felt he was too young. She listens as he relates how much his wife has changed, how she doesn't want children, and how materialistic she's become, even before the lotto money. He swallows visibly a few times and as he toys with his empty pint glass, it seems as if he is hesitant to continue.

"We, ah, haven't been…together in a while," he finishes, avoiding her eyes. Her stomach flips again as she realizes what he is implying—that he's no longer sleeping with Glimmer.

"Oh," she replies simply. She can't decide if it's appropriate for her to say anything else, nor does she think she wants him to continue. She doesn't need the specific details of his sex life. She realizes just that morning she was imagining him fucking his wife as she jogged past his house.

"We had a big fight last night right before I saw you walking the dog. She went to her mother's." He smiles at her, a wistful look in his eyes. "It's why I didn't think it was a good idea to walk with you. If the neighbors saw me walking with a beautiful woman with my wife out of the house…well, people talk."

Her cheeks flush at his compliment, and there is a pregnant silence between them. He looks as if he's going to say something else on the subject, but then he goes back to talking about the ticket and informs her about the press conference on Monday morning, which he reassures her is standard procedure and shouldn't last long.

"Sorry to interrupt." They both look up, and Haymitch is standing beside the booth. "Kat, it's five minutes to six." Her eyes widen in surprise. Have they really been talking for nearly two hours? Haymitch gives her a knowing look, and she narrows her eyes at him as he stalks back to the bar.

"I guess that's my cue to get ready to work," she says. He nods and reaches for his wallet. She goes to still his other hand but remembers what he said and pulls it back abruptly. He gives her an expectant look. "Don't worry about dinner. It's, um, on me. I mean, Haymitch will comp it because I'm working tonight. He can't comp the beer, but that's my treat."

"Thank you, that's nice of you." He fidgets with the band on his watch, his eyes darting down to glance at its face. "Do you, ah, mind if I hang out at the bar for a bit?"

"What? No! I mean, not at all. It's a free bar. I mean, it's not free but…" She stops because she knows she sounds silly. But he gives her that warm smile, and her stomach somersaults.

"Good. Because there's a lot more for me here than at home right now."

He follows her to the bar and settles on a stool directly in front of the flat-screen television above the register, where Katniss punches in and opens a tab for him. She pours him another beer and slides it across the scarred oak surface. He accepts it with another broad smile.

She's not able to chat with him much, as the bar is surprisingly busy, even for a Saturday night. She notices that Peeta talks with Haymitch occasionally, but mostly, his eyes are fixed on the television where a basketball game is airing.

Around ten o'clock, a group of screeching college-aged girls stumbles in and pile into a booth near the rear of the pub. Katniss isn't sure why they chose this particular place to hang out in on when there are far trendier places in town, but as the girls begin to point and size up the guys throughout the bar, she realizes their choice was deliberate. They're practically the only women in the place who aren't with a boyfriend or husband, and there are plenty of single guys hanging out, shooting pool or watching games.

She grits her teeth when the waiter assigned to them enters an order of fruity cocktails and frozen drinks. As she begins to prep them, Peeta stands up and tosses two twenties on the bar.

"I'm gonna get going, Katniss. Thanks for the company."

"I was hardly good company," she calls over the whirr of the blender. She portions the pinkish concoction between two tall glasses and garnishes the top of each with whipped cream. Then she grabs a cocktail shaker to start on the martinis and Cosmos.

"I'll see you Monday," he replies as he turns to leave.

When she transfers the drinks to a tray for the waiter, she notices the giggling girls gesturing at Peeta. She narrows her eyes and wipes her hands on the bar towel.

"Peeta!" she yells. He pauses by the door and looks back at her. "Sweet dreams." She smiles at him, and her stomach swirls again when he returns it and then disappears through the door.

Haymitch snorts and shakes his head at her. "Fuckin' figures."

She turns and glowers at him. "What?"

He smirks at her and raises an eyebrow. "Nothing. It's just like you to finally get that look in your eye about a guy, and he's married."

She closes Peeta's tab, her back to Haymitch, and she feels her heart lift hopefully as she murmurs quietly to herself, "Not for long."

* * *

_A/N-Please share your thoughts on this chapter with me...I respond to every review. _

_Thank you for reading!_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8-Sunday, April 19****th****/Monday, April 20****th**

_**(Peeta)**_

As he approaches the ornate gates of the country club, Peeta wishes he were at his own restaurant instead. He planned a great brunch menu for that morning, and he yearns to be in his kitchen, dicing strawberries and whipping fresh cream for the Napoleon-style French toast that will highlight Thirteen-12's menu.

Instead, he's going to be eating another chef's brunch, and he laments the fact that the menu at his parents' club will likely offer the exact same items as it does every Sunday. Members at the club have their routines, and apparently the world would fall to pieces if there were something other than Eggs Benedict offered.

A nervous energy descends on him as the gatekeeper waves him through, and he steers his car up the winding road to the main lodge of the club. The neatly trimmed grass is verdant and lush, and rolling hills give way to the two eighteen-hole golf courses for which the club is renowned. Many golfers are already out on the greens, carts parked askew or caddies trailing behind them with large bags of clubs and irons. Peeta caddied here one summer. He hated every minute of it, and he never really took to the game as a result—in fact, he despises golf. So playing a few rounds with his father and brothers is an obligation, nothing more.

He's begged off Sunday brunch with his family for the past several weeks, and his mother had made his displeasure at the fact blatantly clear with the third message she had left on both his landline and cell phone. His presence this weekend was not a request; it was an order.

He hands his car keys to the valet, a young kid with a smattering of acne scarring his face like a constellation. The boy hands him back a paper claim ticket and tips his cap at Peeta. With a wry smile, Peeta nods back at the kid and climbs the steps to enter the clubhouse.

The ostentatious lobby is still adorned with urns of lilies left over from the previous weekend's Easter celebrations. Seated at the baby grand piano near the rear of the lounge, a pianist plays a sonata by Schubert; at least, that's what it sounds like. Everything gleams and shines and it's all very lovely. Lovely and sterile, he thinks bitterly. He loathes this place.

Squaring his shoulders, he spies his parents at a round table smack in the middle of the dining room. His stomach tenses, and he swears he can feel the bile rising in his throat when he looks to his mother's left and sees Glimmer. _Fuck. _ He was not expecting to see her; he actually had the excuse all prepared as to why she was not with him.

"Peeta, darling." There is no warmth to Adeline Mellark's voice. There never is. The term of endearment leaves her lips, tinged in an icy chill that matches the gleam in her eyes. He knows, without a doubt, his wife has told her mother-in-law everything about the lottery ticket and Katniss Everdeen and god-knows-what else.

"Hello, son." His father rises and greets him, drawing him in for a brief hug and a pat on the back. The blue eyes that mirror his own are heavy with sympathy. His gut twists again. This isn't good.

Glimmer gives him a patronizing smirk, her lips painted a candy-apple red. With her navy-striped bandeau dress and her blonde hair in subtle waves, she resembles one of those pin-up girls from the twenties. A portrait of elegance, Glimmer never fails to dress to impress for outings at the Mellarks' club. If only people knew what lies beneath the picture-perfect surface, he thinks wryly.

His mother certainly doesn't. She's been snared in Glimmer's web since Peeta first brought her home.

"No kiss for your wife?" Glimmer asks, her mouth tugging down into a pout. He swallows and crosses to her, pressing a kiss to the cheek she turns to offer him. He knows better than to muss her lipstick. As he settles into the chair beside her, his eyes scan the table, and he is dismayed to only count four more chairs.

He gestures to the empty half of the table. "So, ah, who's not coming today?"

Mrs. Mellark sets down her champagne flute and signals the waiter to bring another mimosa. "Kieran." She offers no further explanation. He tries to contain his disappointment; he gets along well with his brothers, but Kieran was always the peacemaker when they were younger. Peeta knows if the middle Mellark were here, he'd have at least one supporter in his corner. Kieran has always had a strained relationship with their mother from the time he was very young. Coming out at seventeen did nothing to ameliorate it, and she remains distant around his brother and his partner.

A loud shriek pierces the air, and he sees Grant in the lobby. Peeta's eldest nephew, Trystyn, is hanging on his father's leg while Grant holds his middle boy, Bryndyn, in one arm and totes an infant carrier bearing the baby, Devyn, in the other. Grant's wife favors trendy names with odd spellings for her children, promoting a preference for the letter 'y,' and Peeta assumes whatever gender the next baby is, he or she will inevitably get a name that completes the pattern.

But Charys is not with them.

"Oh, and Charys won't be joining us," Mrs. Mellark adds, her lips twisted in a knowing smirk. "She's not feeling well today."

Grant makes his way towards them, Trystyn dragging on the floor behind him, still clinging to his father's leg and wailing about something. Grant looks harried and annoyed, but there is a terse smile plastered on his ruggedly handsome face.

"Hi, everyone."

Trystyn lets out another ear-splitting scream, and Mrs. Mellark winces. "Trystyn, what is the matter? Come to Nana."

The boy starts hiccupping and whining, his sobs garbling his speech so much that Peeta can barely discern that it appears Trystyn's Nintendo DSi was not charged and now he has nothing to do at the table. This is bad news for everyone in the dining room, as neither of his nephews is all that well behaved even with the distraction of electronic devices.

Mrs. Mellark produces a small notebook from her purse and a ballpoint pen and orders the boy to color her a picture. Trystyn's eyes light up at the sight of the pen, and he dutifully begins scribbling on the note pad, which is quickly abandoned in favor of the pristine white tablecloth.

There is the usual idle chitchat as Grant gets the boys settled, nestles Devyn's carrier in an inverted high chair the hostess brings over, and reiterates that his wife is having a bad bout of morning sickness. Peeta busies himself sketching a picture with Trystyn, vaguely listening to his brother's conversation with his father about taxes and how badly he got hit this year when his mother clears her throat and directs her attention on him.

"So Peeta and Glimmer have some exciting news," she announces.

He notices Grant's eyes go right to Glimmer's Mimosa. "It's not that," he snaps at his brother, and Grant holds up his hands in defense. Peeta takes a deep breath. "We, ah, well, you know that PowerBall lottery that was so high earlier this week?"

"You won," Grant replies. "I know. I heard your name on the news last night. Gotta be honest, Peet, it's a little disappointing to hear news like that from a television reporter rather than my own brother."

Peeta exhales and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Glimmer's sly smile over the rim of her glass. "It's been a bit overwhelming. We haven't told anyone other than Glimmer's mother and Plutarch. I wanted to speak to him before we made any decisions. Sorry." He swirls the drink stirrer in his Dewar's, watching the ice cubes bob in the amber liquid.

"Oh, and don't forget you told that Katniss girl," Glimmer adds nastily. He studies his mother's face for a reaction, but it's apparent that she already knows the story.

Grant, however, is visibly shocked. "Katniss Everdeen? Shit, I thought that third name sounded familiar, but the anchorwoman said it so fast. Katniss Everdeen," he repeats, "that girl you had it so bad for in high school? The one whose mother—"

"That's enough, Grant," Mrs. Mellark says coolly.

But Peeta glances at Glimmer, and the full realization of Grant's words has clearly struck a nerve with her. Her eyes teem with venom, but she does not seem to look surprised.

"So you did know her." Each word is enunciated and deliberate as she speaks them.

"This is not the place to have this conversation," he hisses, cutting his eyes to his mother, who appears disturbingly satisfied.

"Nonsense, Peeta," his mother intones. "I should think _your wife_ has a right to know something about the woman you are foolishly giving half your money to."

"It's not half!" he cries. "Not the way I managed to work things. But I made a promise to her, and I won't break that promise."

Mrs. Mellark smiles cruelly. "And you made a vow to Glimmer. Or have you forgotten that?"

His mind immediately goes to the papers securely locked in his safe. He sips his scotch and shakes his head. Because he hasn't forgotten it; he's simply had enough of honoring it. Marriage is a two-way street, and he's been on a one-way road for too long now. It's time for a detour.

"This is not the place for me to discuss my marriage, either." He sighs and throws his napkin to the table. "If I had known I was going to get railroaded this afternoon, I would have much rather gone to work."

Trystyn and Bryndyn choose that moment to both release screams, their small fingers locked in a grip around the pen. "It's mine! Nana gave it to me!" Trystyn yells.

"Mine!" His brother yanks back. Grant's mouth presses into a tight, white line and he reaches into his pocket and produces his iPhone.

"Here, boys. Play with this." So instead of bickering over the pen, the boys begin arguing over the phone.

"Peet, give Bryndyn your phone," Grant begs, gulping down the rest of his Bloody Mary. "Please."

Thankfully, the food arrives, and everyone begins eating, the conversation ceasing temporarily. The baby starts to wail, however, and Grant curses and fumbles in the diaper bag for a bottle.

Peeta wipes his mouth and lays his napkin beside his plate. "Give him to me, Grant." His brother's eyes widen in surprise, but he allows Peeta to scoop the infant from his carrier and take the bottle. Without another word, he maneuvers through the dining room and back into the lobby, where he takes a seat and cradles his nephew, who greedily suckles at the bottle and gazes up at Peeta with those familiar blue Mellark eyes. Staring down at the baby, he can't help but think of Katniss. And though he feels a niggle of guilt at doing so, he snakes one hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He pauses and spools through the words in his mind until he finds the most casual way to reach out to her.

_Peeta: Thanks for the therapy session last night, Dr. Everdeen. Hope your Sunday is going ok._

He turns his attention back to the baby, watching his eyelids flutter rapidly as he fights to stay awake. Peeta smiles and coaxes the bottle back into the little mouth, glancing down at his phone as if willing her to reply.

"You can't avoid the mess you've made by hiding out here."

He looks up and sees his mother's cold visage fixed on him. He shifts Devyn in his arms as she settles down on the plush, upholstered bench beside him. "I'm a grown man, Mother. I can manage my life, thank you very much."

"You're not doing a very good job of it," she snaps. "And I'm not talking about the money, Peeta. Do you know how upset you've made Glimmer with your audacious offer to that trashy Katniss Everdeen? What is it about that girl that always has you acting like an insipid puppy dog?"

Peeta has always thought Katniss's name was beautiful; as a teenager, he often said it aloud in the privacy of his bedroom—usually when he was jacking off to thoughts of her—and he loved the way it sounded, the hiss of the 's' lingering on his tongue. It slipped out so easily even when he was breathing heavily; it was a great name to moan in ecstasy. Out of his mother's mouth, however, it's sinister and sinuous.

He knows his father and Katniss's mother dated years before John Mellark married Peeta's mother. He also knows his father was not the one to break things off, and he has long suspected that his father never stopped loving Mrs. Everdeen—a suspicion that was as much as confirmed by the way he acted for weeks after Katniss's mother's death. And thus, he also assumes that is the reason why his mother has always shown such a blatant disdain for Katniss.

"She's not trash, Mother, and I wish you'd stop referring to her that way. Just because Katniss didn't live in a big house—"

"That shack could barely be called a house. It should have been condemned." She smooths an invisible wrinkle out of her dress and sighs. "She's a waitress, Peeta. She's clearly not done much with her life. Not that she would be expected to."

Peeta has the urge to defend Katniss, but he refuses to bait his mother into prolonging this argument. Nor does he feel the need to reveal that come Monday, Katniss will be working for him. He's certain she'd have a field day with that one.

"I'm sorry I upset Glimmer," he begins, setting down the bottle and raising Devyn to his shoulder, patting and rubbing the baby's back. "But I'm sure she didn't tell you the whole story—" His phone vibrates, and he snatches it from the bench before his mother's prying eyes can see the screen.

"Is that the Seam Trash now?"

Peeta shakes his head disgustedly. "I'm not even going to justify that comment with a response." He glances down at the screen and fights back his smile.

_Katniss: Brunch with a friend and walking Brutus again—Gale home tomorrow. Thanks for asking. :-) See you in the morning._

He fires back a quick reply: _Bright and early. Bring your smile. _

"Peeta, I'm going to be blunt."

"Are you ever anything else?" he asks pointedly. The baby finally lets out a burp, and he nestles the infant back into the crook of his arm.

"Glimmer is your wife. Don't be a fool like your father and throw your marriage away for some slut."

"Funny thing, Mother. Last I checked you and Dad were still married."

Her eyes narrow, and her lips curl maliciously. "So we are."

He levels her with a glacial stare of his own. "I won't make the same mistake Dad made. You can be sure of that."

* * *

Brunch ends mercifully without further incident, and Peeta leaves as quickly as he can while Glimmer is using the powder room. It's immature, but he doesn't really want a confrontation with her outside the club. There will be plenty of time for more arguments and name-calling when she gets served with her papers, which he intends to file on Monday after the press conference. He doesn't expect her back at the house before then.

He swings by Thirteen-12 to check in and is not surprised that Thresh and Thom have managed the day's business effortlessly. He sneaks into his office and grabs some paperwork to take home. Then he reconsiders and rather than go home to an empty house, he decides to take advantage of the lovely day and sit outside in the park near his house. The thought is not lost on him that if he lingers long enough Katniss may come through on her walk with the dog.

After two hours of leaving through supply orders and carefully scrutinizing the crowd in the park, he gives up hope of seeing Katniss and reluctantly heads back to his house.

No sooner has Peeta pushed the button to close the garage door then it rattles and begins to rise again. He frowns and reaches for the button again, thinking the sensor has caught something that caused it to not fully descend. But then he sees the grill of Glimmer's Audi through the gap and closes his eyes, preparing for battle.

"Aren't Mellark brunches just the worst?" she declares when the door fully rises and she stands before him, arms are laden with shopping bags. She must have gone right from the country club to the mall. The logos on the bags are all expensive—Prada, Cavalli, and Christian Louboutin among them. Winning the lottery can only continue to feed her extravagant tastes.

"I wasn't expecting you back so soon," he says, crossing his arms and fixing her with an equally cold stare. "Figured you'd stay at your mom's at least a few days."

"It's my house. My suitcase is in the trunk."

He doesn't budge. "So get it."

"Who are you and what have you done with my husband? Because he never failed to open doors for me and carry my things."

"He's gotten a little wiser these past few days," he replies. "Maybe if you ask nicely, I'll get it for you."

She glares at him and neither moves for several minutes until she huffs and tosses her hair over her shoulder and stomps past him into the house. He presses the garage button a third time and enters the house behind her.

Glimmer places her shopping bags on the kitchen table and pushes her sunglasses up onto her head. "Are you really not going to bring my suitcase in?"

"After we talk."

She narrows her eyes at him. "Who said we had to talk?"

"Glimmer, there is a lot we need to discuss, and we're going to do it like civilized adults." He pauses. "And it's probably best that we get on the same page before the press conference tomorrow morning."

"Fine. How about we start with the fact that you lied to me about that woman who's getting half my money?"

He sighs and closes his eyes briefly, willing himself to remain calm and stay focused no matter how antagonistic she gets. "I didn't lie to you. I chose not to tell you that Katniss and I had gone to school together because I knew how you'd react."

"Then you're stupider than I thought," she snaps. "Because if you had to keep something like that from me then you had to have known on some level that it was wrong, Peeta."

"There is nothing going on between me and Katniss Everdeen," he says carefully. "I knew her in high school, and yes, I liked her in high school. A lot. But until that morning she waited on me in the diner, I hadn't thought about her in years."

And it's mostly true. She crept into his conscious mind from time to time but never in more than a fleeting way. He can honestly say that even as his marriage has slowly disintegrated, he has not harbored fantasies about Katniss—not until he saw her a few days ago and she reentered his life.

Glimmer's eyes flash. "I don't appreciate being made a fool of. And when your mother told me that this Katniss whore was more than just some waitress you met in a diner, I sure felt like one."

He cringes at hearing Katniss being referred to as a whore, but he lets it slide. "You're not being made a fool of," he replies, leaning against the kitchen island.

"No? You tell me how it looks to an outsider, Peeta. When we sit down for this press conference tomorrow and people hear what you've done, when some other woman is sitting up there with us, do you know how that will make me look? I can't wait to answer questions about how I feel that my husband just gave money away to some bitch he had the fucking hots for when he was sixteen!"

His stomach twists anxiously; as loath as he is to admit that Glimmer is right, he hasn't paused to consider how this story could get spun in the press. He's not naïve; he knew right away that the media in their relatively small town would have a field day with the notoriety that comes with winning the lottery. But the circumstances of their ticket will undoubtedly add an extra element to the story, especially given Peeta and Katniss's ties to their hometown.

"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you I knew her," he says quietly.

She glares at him, and he stares back, neither one blinking, and the silence is deafening. He can hear the blood thrumming through his ears as he waits for her to speak. She raises her eyebrows at him and gives him a gesture with her hands that suggests she expects him to continue.

He doesn't.

"That's all you're sorry for?" she sneers. "Really, Peeta? Not sorry that you care more about some piece of white trash than your own wife?"

"No, I'm not!" he yells, and her eyes widen almost comically as he does. For all their problems in recent months, he's never really raised his voice at her. She's the one who does the ranting and the raving, and he listens patiently until she's adequately spent herself of her shrieking. But not today. His frustration has been mounting inside him, simmering below the surface like a dormant volcano, and she's finally set him off.

"What did you just say?"

"I said I'm not sorry, Glimmer. I've put up with this for a long time, and I've had enough. How can you not see it? How can you not see how awful you've been to me?"

She sucks in a breath, her cheeks hollowing out as her mouth twitches angrily. "Me? You're accusing _me _of being awful? I'm not the one who brought another woman into this marriage whether you're fucking her or not. And I still suspect you are, Peeta."

"I'm not sleeping with Katniss," he shouts, throwing his hands up in frustration. "No matter how bad things are between us, I would never cheat on you."

"Cheating is more than sticking your dick in another woman, Peeta," she snaps. "There are a lot of ways to betray someone."

"You're unbelievable." He shakes his head in disbelief. "You're fucking lucky I didn't cheat on you, given you never let me touch you anymore. If anyone should be suspicious, it's me. I mean, how do I know you're not the one having an affair and that's why you push me away time and time again?"

She presses her lips together so tightly that he can see her cheek muscles tensing. She does not deny his accusation; at least not immediately. Finally, she says, "I'm not cheating on you."

"Then what is it, Glimmer? What did I ever do that caused you to become this unrecognizable incarnation of the girl I fell in love with?" She releases her mouth from its vice grip, and he sees her lips tremble slightly. She remains silent, and she won't meet his eyes. He lifts his back from the counter and crosses the kitchen to stand before her. "What did I do?"

"I don't want to talk to you about this right now," she says sullenly, folding her arms across her chest and setting her jaw. "If you're not going to get my stuff, I'll go get it myself."

He doesn't flinch, and he knows she's serious about avoiding further conversation because she flounces past him, jostling him hard with her shoulder as does. He rubs his hands over his face, wishing he had just stayed in the park.

Glimmer returns a few minutes later, hauling the bags behind her, slamming the door with her heel and breathing heavily. She glares at him and drags the luggage into the foyer. He sighs and follows her. Wordlessly, he takes the suitcase in one hand and the overnight bag in the other and mounts the steps to the master bedroom. He deposits the bags in front of the walk-in closet.

He is surprised to feel arms wind around his waist, and the overpowering floral burst from Glimmer's perfume wafts past his nose when he inhales sharply. Instinctively, he stiffens and pivots out of her grasp. Her face twists and her eyes harden. "What, now you don't want me to touch you? Isn't this what you were just whining about downstairs?" She reaches out and drags her fingernail along his jaw, and he flinches at the contact. She smirks and her fingers find the zipper on the side of her dress. He shakes his head as she drags it downward and shrugs one strap of the dress off her shoulder.

"Don't," he says firmly.

"Why not?" She peels the other strap down and lets the dress pool around her ankles. She places her hands on her hips and reaches behind her. "I thought you wanted to fuck me." She releases the clasp of her lacy red bra and it falls to the ground, exposing her full breasts, leaving her clad only in a matching red thong. She purses her lips at him suggestively.

He closes his eyes briefly and shakes his head. "I did. For months, Glimmer. And every time I tried to initiate anything with you, you rejected me. So now you know how that feels. I'm not in the mood right now." The sight of her, nearly nude, elicits absolutely no reaction in him. Any ounce of desire he felt for her has evaporated completely. When he looks at Glimmer now, he can't see anything but a cold shell of a woman. He harbors no more thoughts of burying himself in her warmth because there is none. He finally sees that.

"I bet if I was Katniss Everdeen you'd be all over me," she snarls, picking up her dress and tossing it onto the bed before moving to her armoire and fumbling around for a pair of skinny jeans and a t-shirt. She pulls the t-shirt over her head without putting on her bra.

"You're delusional." He undoes his tie and hangs it on the rack in the closet. "You can keep accusing me of it, but I'm not fucking her. But you know what, Glim? If that's what you have to tell yourself to feel better about things and justify your behavior, by all means, go ahead. I know the truth."

He leaves her in the bedroom, heads to the dry bar in the living room to pour two fingers of scotch and locks himself in his office for the remainder of the afternoon.

And he thinks about the fact that while he may not be fucking Katniss, he certainly wishes he was.

* * *

Peeta sleeps on the leather couch in his study that night, and when he stumbles out of the room the next morning at quarter to seven, opting to skip a run that morning and head straight for the shower instead, he's shocked by the sight of Glimmer coming down the stairs, a garment bag in one hand. She glowers at him openly.

"You're up early," he muses as she marches past him and grabs her purse from the table near the front door.

"I have an appointment at seven."

"Isn't the salon closed on Mondays?"

"They're opening just for me," she replies haughtily.

"Well aren't you special," he mutters under his breath. She whirls about and narrows her eyes at him.

"What did you say?" He presses his lips together and shakes his head, containing his smirk. He doesn't feel like continuing their battle from last night, not with having to be civil in front of reporters in a few hours. She tosses her hair over her shoulder and rummages around in her purse for her keys. Peeta doesn't know how she finds anything in that black hole, but within seconds, they are clutched in her hand.

"So are you coming back here before the press conference?"

She waves the garment bag through the air. "I'll get dressed at the salon. I'll just see you there." The door slams behind her, and he hears the roar of her engine and the screech of the tires. He didn't even have a chance to confirm with her that she knows where she's going; the state lotto offices are about forty minutes away, and most of it isn't highway driving. Oh well. Her Audi has a navigation system—if she knows how to use it.

After brewing a pot of coffee and fixing himself a bowl of cereal, he watches SportsCenter and browses the morning's headlines on his iPad. He texts Finnick, who is scheduled to return to work that morning and reminds him he won't be in until the press conference ends, but it should still be well ahead of opening time.

He showers and carefully selects a suit from his small corner of the walk-in closet (Glimmer's wardrobe and shoes dominates three-quarters of the space) and dresses quickly.

Traffic is light for a Monday, so he arrives at the lottery offices with time to spare. He finds a lot in which to park his car and walks the three blocks to the unassuming brick building that houses a multitude of odd businesses. He's surprised to see Katniss sitting on a bench in front of the building, her foot tapping rhythmically against the pavement as she stares off into the distance.

He observes her for a moment; she looks lovely—he's not used to seeing her hair down, and it tumbles in waves past her shoulders. She wears very little makeup, but she doesn't need it. Katniss has a natural beauty to her that Peeta suspects she's unaware of. She's never been cognizant of the effect she can have on people. He smiles and walks towards her. "Hey," he says warmly. She glances up, startled, and her face brightens as she greets him back. "What are you doing sitting out here?"

"There was only one train that I could catch and it got in twenty minutes ago. I figured I was too early to go inside."

He frowns. "You took the train?"

She nods. "Yeah, I, um, don't have a car."

"Oh, what happened to it?" he asks. She hesitates and seems embarrassed.

"Um, I've never had a car. Well, unless you count my mom's clunker that died years ago."

"So you walk everywhere?"

"I have a perfectly good pair of legs," she replies, and his eyes wander to appraise them. She's wearing a pair of black sheer stockings, and yes, they look perfectly good to him. "And wherever I can't walk there are trains and cabs." She looks away when she catches him staring.

"Well maybe you'll have to change that now that you have the means," he muses. "But you're not taking the train back from here. You're coming with me. After all, we're going to the same place," he adds with a grin. "I mean, that is if you still even want the job. You hardly need a it now."

"I still want it," she says firmly. "I wouldn't leave you hanging like that. Besides, what else will I do with my time? I need to keep busy until someone wants my songs, if that ever happens."

He grins again and extends his hand to her. "Should we go in?" She hesitates and grips his hand as she stands, and he lets his fingers linger around her palm for a fraction of a second longer than he needs to before holding the door for her and ushering her inside.

When they reach the office on the fourth floor, a droll receptionist shows Katniss the paperwork Peeta began the other day. The woman informs them that an official will be with them momentarily, and she goes back to clicking the keys on her mouse, eyes transfixed on her computer screen.

Katniss takes a seat and balances the clipboard on her lap. Peeta shuffles in place, debating whether he should sit down in the chair beside her. She looks up at him expectantly, biting her lip and motioning to the papers. "I'm not sure what I need to do," she says, sliding her eyes at the receptionist, clearly implying that the woman could have been more helpful. He settles next to her and leans in, pointing to the sections that he completed earlier.

"See where my signature is?" He taps the paper, and she nods. "You'll need to sign and date that line below where Glimmer's signature will go." Katniss nods again and scrawls her name as he watches her. At this close proximity, he can smell the notes of vanilla and sandalwood from her perfume, and his eyes rake over the graceful slope where her neck meets her shoulder. He feels himself getting hard again as he envisions pressing his lips to the soft skin there, suckling gently and hearing her breathy moans in response so he shifts his position discreetly and looks away.

"Beauregard?" Katniss asks quietly, and Peeta grimaces at the sound of Glimmer's last name.

"Uh, yeah. She didn't want to take my name. I mean, I suggested she could hyphenate it, but she said she liked hers better and wasn't changing it." _ One less thing she'll have to do once the divorce is finalized._

"To each her own, I guess," Katniss replies, flipping through the documents again. "But I like your last name. It's mellifluous."

He laughs. "I can't say I've heard that one before."

"Mr. and Mrs. Mellark?" They both glance up at the intrusion and see a tall woman with mocha-colored skin and a warm smile on her pretty face. "I'm Beatrice Seeder, one of the lottery officials here. It's a pleasure to meet you both."

Neither of them moves at first, and they exchange a quick glance; Peeta smiles inwardly at the error the woman made in referring to Katniss as his wife. She's blushing, a faint pink coloring her cheeks.

But she stands first, placing the clipboard on the chair behind her and reaches out to shake the woman's hand. "Hi, I'm Katniss Everdeen. I'm, um, not his wife." Peeta chalks it up to wishful thinking, but he swears he hears a wistful edge to her voice. He's probably imagining things. The lottery woman furrows her brows and then recognition dawns in her features.

"Oh! You're the waitress! Of course. I'm sorry for my mistake. You just looked so comfortable together I assumed you were the married couple."

Peeta cuts his eyes at Katniss, whose cheeks have flushed to a full crimson as she avoids his eyes. He rises and stands beside her. "Katniss and I are old friends, like I told the man I spoke to the other day. My, uh, wife will be here shortly."

"Well, I have to warn you both that I think there is going to be quite a lot of buzz about this little story if the reaction it got around here is any indication. It's so unusual!"

At five minutes to nine, Peeta and Katniss have been ushered to a large podium beside several officials, Ms. Seeder included. Several rows of chairs have been arranged before the podium, and most of these have been filled in with what Peeta deduces are reporters. Glimmer is nowhere to be seen.

"I'm nervous," Katniss whispers to him. He smiles sympathetically at her and squeezes her hand gently.

"They're just a bunch of reporters. You'll be fine."

She takes a deep breath and purses her lips. "There are cameras, Peeta. I'm just not good at this stuff. I never liked speaking in front of people in school."

"Relax and just answer their questions honestly. You can do that," he says gently. She glances down at where their hands are still clasped together before raising her eyes to lock on his. A warmth spreads through him, roiling in his stomach and causing his cock to pulse again.

He's so spellbound by her that neither hears the staccato click of the heels until they stop. "Well, isn't this cozy?"

Katniss drops his hand as if it had just caught fire, and Peeta sighs, adjusting the sleeves on his suit jacket. "Hello, Glimmer," he says.

* * *

_**Author's Note**_**-**_Thank you so much for the incredible support you continue to show this story. Your reviews definitely inspire me to write faster and to write more!_

_I also recently posted the prologue to a new WIP mystery called One by One if you haven't already checked it out. _

_Many thanks to my support crew, ILoveRynMar, jeeno2 and streetlightlove. And a special thanks to Ro Nordmann who made the beautiful banner that's now linked in the summary for this story. And a __Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there. :) _

_I'd love to hear your thoughts...thanks for reading._


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9-Monday, April 20****th **_**cont.**_

_**(Katniss)**_

Katniss straightens her spine and subconsciously runs her tongue over her teeth as Glimmer holds her in place with an icy stare.

"This must be the little waitress," she says derisively, a slight smirk on her glossy lips. "Well aren't you cute?"

"Glimmer, this is Katniss. Katniss, Glimmer." Peeta gives Katniss a reassuring smile, and she tries to steady her eddying nerves. Between the press conference and now being face to face with Peeta's wife, her anxiety level continues to rapidly rise.

The beautiful blonde sizes Katniss up, and Katniss feels woefully plain next to her. Glimmer is even more stunning in person; she can see why Peeta, and probably every other man, would be attracted to her. She's tall and willowy and exudes confidence. Her hair is swept up in an elegant chignon, and her makeup is flawless. Her emerald green dress hugs her curves in all the right places.

Katniss glances down at her own little black dress, the nicest one she owns. She doesn't fill it out as well as she could. Her modest breasts are only slightly enhanced by her padded bra, and she definitely lacks the bust and hips Glimmer has.

The way Glimmer inspects her is predatory; Peeta's wife is like a watchful hawk, circling her prey, waiting to swoop down and attack Katniss.

"It's really nice to meet you," she says, trying to keep her voice steady, offering her hand to Glimmer, who grips Katniss's hand reluctantly, barely brushing her fingers along Katniss's palm. She doesn't say a word. Katniss sighs—it's as much as she expected. Peeta nudges Glimmer with his elbow, and she glares at her husband.

"Pleasure," she says disingenuously.

"Did you sign the paperwork for the ticket when you came in?" Peeta asks Glimmer, and she smiles coolly.

"Yes, dear," she says, linking her arm possessively through his. "It's all signed and sealed." Katniss coughs and looks down at her boots. No matter what Peeta might have told her about his intentions to file for divorce, Glimmer is clearly staking her claim. She angles her svelte frame to press against his side as her other hand reaches across his body rubs up and down his left arm. To Katniss's dismay, Peeta doesn't stop her from doing so.

A tall man—she thinks he had introduced himself as Mitchell—with a booming voice claps his hands twice to settle the assembled press. "Okay, are we ready? Mr. and Mrs. Mellark? Ms. Everdeen?" She expects Glimmer to correct the official in regards to her proper name, but she doesn't.

Ms. Seeder steps to the microphone and gives some opening statements to the throng of reporters, most of whom sit with recorders angled towards the podium—very few carry notebooks or paper. Mr. Mitchell then introduces Mr. and Mrs. Peeta Mellark and Ms. Katniss Everdeen as the claimants of one of the winning tickets for the massive PowerBall jackpot.

Two more officials bring out one of those big, cheesy checks that Katniss has seen on television before, and her eyes are drawn to her name, spelled correctly in neat, bold letters, right below Peeta's name and Glimmer's name (and here, it's written out as Ms. Glimmer Beauregard). Ms. Seeder asks them to pose with the check, and she maneuvers Peeta to the center behind it, positioning Katniss on his left and Glimmer on his right.

He glances down at Katniss and gives her another reassuring smile. She manages a meek one in return and then faces the flurry of cameras and cellphones that rapidly snap photo after photo. Her cheek muscles start to quiver from holding the pose for so long and her vision swims with pulsing blobs of yellow and red from the flashes.

Mr. Mitchell slides the big check out of their hands and ushers them back to the podium. "Okay, we're going to open the floor for any questions you might have for our winners." He points to a garishly dressed woman with a pile of curls on her head and heavy eye makeup. She grins brightly and bounds to her feet.

"Effie Trinket, _Panem Post Gazette_!" It's the same reporter who first called her Saturday morning. Her voice is as chipper and bubbly now as it was then. Katniss wonders if the woman is naturally this ebullient or if some combination of caffeine or drugs might be to blame for her perkiness. "My question is for Mr. Mellark. Is it true that you gave half your ticket to Ms. Everdeen when she waited on you in a diner?"

A murmur goes through the crowd, but not one of surprise. It seems most of the reporters were itching to be the first to ask exactly the same question. Katniss looks over at Peeta. His handsome features relax and he smiles easily as he nods and leans towards the microphone. "Yes, actually, that's mostly true. Would you like the rest of the story or do I need to wait for you to ask for it?" His playful tone causes the reporter to giggle and bob her head enthusiastically.

Peeta is his usual charming self as he begins to relay the story of how he and his business partner—he works in a seamless plug for Thirteen-12 when he mentions Finnick—were having breakfast when Finnick's wife went into labor. He explains that he finished eating alone but when the check arrived, he realized he had left his wallet at home, and all that he had in his pocket was the lottery ticket.

"A lottery ticket that I asked him to buy," Glimmer interjects, a bright smile on her face.

"It's been my custom to buy one ticket every Tuesday and Friday," he adds. "Last week was no different."

"Just one?" Effie trills. "My those odds were certainly not in your favor. I bought thirty tickets for that drawing!"

"Just one," he affirms. "Needless to say, as a restaurant owner, I was pretty embarrassed to have to tell Ms. Everdeen that I had no money on me."

Effie turns her attention to Katniss. "Ms. Everdeen, what were you thinking when this man told you he couldn't pay for his meal?"

Katniss takes a quick breath and prepares her response in her head. She needs to stick to the details of that morning and not let her conflicting emotions about Peeta muddle her answers. "Well," she starts, "I actually went to school with Peeta, so when he told me he had forgotten his wallet, I told him not to worry about the check. I figured he was good for it, and I told him the meal was my treat." She vacillates over saying more, especially concerning the biology paper and owing him, but she opts not to—keep it simple, she reminds herself.

The reporter's brows arch even higher. "Oh? You two knew each other before this ticket incident?"

Katniss hesitates so Peeta jumps in. "Katniss and I went to school together, yes. We actually met in kindergarten. But until last Tuesday, I hadn't seen her since graduation."

Effie purses her bright pink lips. "So if you treated Mr. Mellark to lunch, Ms. Everdeen, then how did this lotto ticket come to be part of the equation?"

"Can I take this one?" Peeta asks Katniss, and she gives him a tight smile, thankful he's taking the pressure off her again. "I'm in the industry, Ms. Trinket. I told you I owned a restaurant. I had to offer Ms. Everdeen a tip for her outstanding service." He explains the deal that he and Katniss had struck, and how he had planned to return the next day with an appropriate tip should the ticket not be a winner. "And honestly, who thinks they are going to win the lottery, especially one as large as this one?" Most of the assembled crowd voices their agreement.

"Ms. Everdeen, what did you think when he proposed this interesting arrangement for your tip?"

She glances over at Peeta, and the warm crinkling of his eyes steadies her. "I, ah, I'll admit, I thought he was a little crazy." She laughs, he laughs, and the crowd chuckles in response. She sneaks a glimpse at Glimmer out of the corner of her eye—she is _not_ laughing, and she appears to be trying to hide her irritation. "But you know he was such a nice guy in school that I knew he meant well and so I agreed to it. And then I kind of forgot all about it."

Which isn't entirely _un_true, she muses to herself. She had indeed not given much thought to the ticket after that morning—she'd only thought of _him_.

"Ms. Trinket, I think we'd better let the rest of the press have a go at our winners," Mr. Mitchell announces, pointing to a male reporter, and Effie pouts and takes her seat, clearly irked she can't continue her line of questioning.

"So how did you find out the ticket had won, Mr. Mellark?" the next reporter asks.

"Well, Glimmer and I were watching the drawing that night, like I'm sure most of the country was and—"

"I had the ticket in my hand and I was the one who checked the numbers," Glimmer interrupts, giving Peeta a cloying smile. "We were so excited!" She babbles on and on about her reaction, and Katniss fights to keep from rolling her eyes at her blatant overenthusiasm.

The same reporter waits for Glimmer to finish and poses a follow-up question. "Mrs. Mellark, how was it then that you found out that your husband had given half your lottery ticket to another woman?"

She pushes her blonde waves back over her shoulder and gives the reporter a dazzling smile. "He told me. Peeta and I trust each other implicitly. When he explained the situation, I knew he had a good reason for it…"

She continues to talk, but Katniss is no longer listening. The sharp intake of breath from Peeta seizes her attention, and she notices he has visibly tensed. A polite smile is plastered on his lips, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Katniss's realizes at once what Glimmer is doing: she's using this platform to publicly make her marriage appear rock solid; she's boxing Peeta in. And from the expression on Peeta's face, he knows it too. "You have quite a woman there, Mr. Mellark," the reporter laughs as the crowd buzzes. "Where can I get one of her?"

Peeta's gracious smile widens. "Oh, she's one in a million," he replies, now glancing down at Glimmer, but his hand inconspicuously brushes Katniss's, his fingers grazing hers.

Mr. Mitchell signals the next reporter to ask her question. There are a few more inquiries, and most want to know what they intend to do with the money and how much their lives are going to change. Glimmer earns a few more brownie points when she announces she and her husband will undoubtedly be giving a portion of their winnings to charity—though Katniss wonders whether Glimmer has any intentions of parting with a cent of her third. Katniss mentions Prim, speaking effusively about her sister and her accomplishments, and she echoes the notion of donating to charity.

"So it's safe to say your waitressing days are over, Miss Everdeen?" a man calls out. Katniss smiles and glances over at Peeta. He nods imperceptibly, and she clears her throat.

"No, actually. I'll still be bartending at Abernathy's Pub on some nights. My uncle owns it, and I've worked there forever, so I can't just leave him hanging. And for the meantime, I'm filling in for one of Peet—Mr. Mellark's hostesses while she's out on maternity leave." Katniss sees Glimmer's back straighten and her chin jut up at this revelation. "But I guess technically neither of those are considered waitressing, huh?" More murmurs of agreement and quiet laughter from the crowd.

Ms. Seeder claps her hands. "Thank you, everyone. The press conference is now over. Should you wish to speak with the winners, it's up to them if they would like to grant you a one-on-one interview."

The second the cameras are off, Glimmer spins on her heel and faces Katniss. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" she hisses through her teeth, her voice low. "Now you're _working _with _my _husband?"

Peeta grabs his wife's arm and gives her a stony look. "That's enough, Glim. This is not the place to discuss a decision that _I_ made regarding Annie's maternity leave. Don't take it out on Katniss."

"Mr. Mellark! Ms. Everdeen!" Ms. Seeder waves to them from across the room where she is speaking to a petite woman. "Please, someone wishes to speak with you. I think you'll want to hear this!"

Peeta motions for Katniss to follow him, and they make their way through the throng of bodies, leaving Glimmer fuming at the podium. "You did great," he whispers over his shoulder, smiling at her.

"Thanks," she replies, glancing back at Glimmer. The blonde hasn't moved, and her cold stare is fixed on them. Katniss finally understands that cliché 'if looks could kill'—because at the moment, the poisonous darts Glimmer's eyes shoot in her direction are enough to put her six feet under. She shivers and turns her attention back to Ms. Seeder and the woman beside her.

"This is Portia Ruiz from _The Caesar Flickerman Show_," Ms. Seeder says excitedly. "It seems the producers are eager to get you on camera and talk about the unusual circumstances of this lotto ticket in more detail." She winks at them. "I told you there'd be a fair amount of interest in you two!"

"It is quite the story," Portia smiles. "The associated press who attended today's briefing may get the story out nationally, but millions of viewers watch Caesar's show and you're bound to draw some ratings. It doesn't hurt that you're both very easy on the eyes." She laughs.

Katniss and Peeta exchange a pointed look, and he places a hand on the small of her back. "Can we talk it over?" he answers.

Portia nods. "Of course."

He guides her towards the rear corner of the room, and Katniss tucks a lock of hair behind her ear as he stops several yards away from her, careful not to get too close. "What do you think? I know you're not very comfortable with all of this."

Katniss has seen Caesar's show once or twice. It's not quite tabloid territory, but he definitely pushes the envelope more than someone like, say, Ellen DeGeneres. She shrugs. "I think your wife is going to murder me if I go on national television with you. She's been giving me the evil eye since I said we're working together now."

He gives her a sympathetic smile and lowers his voice. "She won't murder you. She hates the color orange and that's what I hear they use for prison jumpsuits in this county." She laughs quietly at his attempt to console her, and he's clearly pleased with himself for getting her to do so. "Don't give her a second thought. One thing that you obviously saw is Glimmer is very concerned with her appearance. And I don't mean just physically." Katniss comprehends what he implies, but he continues. "You saw the way she behaved just now…as if nothing was wrong between us, as if things were perfect."

"I noticed," she agrees, chancing a quick glance at Glimmer again. The blonde watches her suspiciously from where she is engaged in conversation with a short reporter with a bad toupee.

"Think of it this way," he suggests. "If we do this interview with Caesar Flickerman, it will air all over the country, and we can effectively turn down any other reporters who might come sniffing around. This one interview can cover all the bases."

She mulls over his words, chewing on her bottom lip in thought as he watches her earnestly. "I guess I just don't see how much more we could say than what we just answered at the press conference."

He looks at her thoughtfully. "How do you mean?"

"I mean, people might find it interesting, but we explained what there was to explain. I don't see how sitting through the same questions again changes anything: you're a nice guy who gave a lucky break to a girl who was down on her luck. Feel good story, yes, but as soon as the next 'fifteen minutes of fame' story comes along we're old news."

"I hadn't thought about that." He nods. "Hmm."

She cranes her neck back to steal another peek at Glimmer, simmering like a dormant volcano. "Plus it kind of makes me nervous that they'd try to turn this into some kind of deranged love triangle."

He raises an eyebrow at her. "Deranged?"

She flushes and glances down at her feet. "Not the best choice of words. But what I meant was you're so good, Peeta. I wouldn't want some kind of sensational spin put on this for ratings where you're made to look like the bad guy who gave his mistress half his poor wife's lotto winnings."

He flinches and swallows, eyes trained on her. "You're not my mistress, Katniss," he says quietly.

"Their words, not mine," she replies. "You know that's how they'd sell it."

"I'm not going to do something you're uncomfortable with." He continues to hold her in place with that hypnotic gaze. "So if you don't think we should do it, I say we go with your gut. We'll tell her no?"

"Yeah," she sighs. "It's for the best, right?"

Peeta smiles at her and squeezes her shoulder reassuringly. She sighs again and follows him back to where Portia stands, but now Glimmer has made her way to linger just beyond where the producer awaits their decision. "Well?" she asks hopefully. Peeta glances at Katniss, who slowly nods her assent.

"We think it's best we leave the details to this press conference. Neither of us really wants the publicity—" he replies, and Portia's pretty face darkens immediately as she cuts him off.

"Publicity would bring scores of patrons to your restaurant, Mr. Mellark. Did you think about that?"

Katniss feels a twinge of guilt. She supposes the exposure would bring a little more notoriety to Thirteen-12. Look what it's done for that Cake Boss guy's bakery and that bridal salon on the ridiculous wedding show Prim is always gushing about. On the other hand, if Peeta somehow comes off as the villain, leaving his wife for the waitress—real or not—it could have the opposite effect. Customers could eschew the establishment if they don't approve of his actions.

And then she also wonders—selfishly—if it might even help her to get some of her songs into the hands of some record labels. She places her hand on Peeta's arm and guides his ear down to her mouth, whispering to him. "Tell her we will think it over." His eyes lift slightly in surprise, and she nods.

"Ms. Ruiz, I think we just need a bit more time to discuss this. We'll reconsider."

"Wonderful! Just wonderful!" she cries, scrolling through her iPad mini. "We will be in touch with you again in a few days and hope you'll have changed your minds by then; Mr. Flickerman is on vacation right now anyway, and the show is airing reruns, but I anticipate he would want to schedule you sometime next week and perhaps he could even come here, do the interview in your restaurant and—"

"Excuse me," Glimmer interjects, stepping forward and crossing her arms confrontationally across her chest, "but I hope this interview will be for all three winners and not just _my_ husband and his whore."

"Glimmer!" Peeta hisses angrily, but Katniss can feel the anger radiating off the blonde woman. Portia's eyes flicker from Glimmer to her, and Katniss senses the producer's discomfort at being caught in the crossfire.

"Well, Mrs. Mellark, I can't see why Mr. Flickerman wouldn't want your side of the story too," Portia begins haltingly. "But we'll let you know when we hear from your husband." She presses a business card into both Peeta and Katniss's hands. Peeta reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket and withdraws his own card.

"My contact information is on there. You can reach me at the restaurant most days."

Portia furrows her perfectly groomed brows. "No home number where I can contact you?"

Katniss sees the slight hesitation in Peeta's demeanor. He clears his throat and slides his eyes at Glimmer, whose eyes are narrowed in another venomous glare aimed at Katniss. "It's best you call me at work." He gestures to Katniss. "You can reach Katniss there as well."

They exchange a few more pleasantries with Portia before she bids them goodbye and strides off through the offices. Katniss notices that blonde reporter, Effie, loitering about and she suspects the woman is waiting to pounce on them for an interview of her own. But another official corrals the throng of reporters and ushers them out of the office, leaving Peeta, Katniss and Glimmer alone with Ms. Seeder.

She goes through a host of technicalities with them, mostly particulars about the timeline for the first of the checks being issued and how to proceed with declaring their winnings. They'll have another year before they have to deal with the ramifications of taxes, but she urges they get everything in place early. After nearly twenty minutes of conversation, she wishes them well.

"You ready to head to work?" Peeta asks Katniss, and she nods quickly. She is more than ready to remove herself from this situation and get back to some semblance of normalcy, whatever that may be from now on.

Glimmer lunges out and grabs Katniss's arm, digging her fingers into the soft flesh. Katniss gasps and jerks her arm, and an intense feeling of déjà vu strikes her when she recalls the douchebag at the diner doing the same thing. She grits her teeth and steels her eyes on Glimmer.

"Let go of me," she says deliberately. "You don't want to know what I did to the last person who grabbed me like this."

"Stay away from my husband," Glimmer snarls back. Peeta wraps his hand around Glimmer's, dislodging her fingers from Katniss's arm and yanks his wife back.

"Are you crazy?" He scolds her in a harsh whisper and leads her further away from Katniss, and as he does, she can hear him muttering angrily to Glimmer. Katniss makes out snippets of his heated words, and she hears him say something about paying more attention to him before this whole situation. And then they are too far out of range for her to discern any more of their argument.

She rubs gingerly at the spot on her arm where Glimmer grabbed her and watches uncomfortably as Peeta and Glimmer continue to argue across the room. Their postures couldn't be more different: Peeta stands rigidly, his hands at his side, his face unnaturally calm while Glimmer gesticulates wildly, her features contorted in fury, occasionally stamping her high-heeled foot like an obstinate toddler.

Katniss quietly retreats from the office, uneasy at staying and being a witness to their quarrel. She locates the stairwell and makes quick work of the several flights back down to the lobby.

The train station is only a few blocks away; it's warmed considerably so she doesn't bother to put on her coat and instead drapes it over one arm then slings her bag over her shoulder and begins the short walk. It's a beautiful spring morning; the sunshine feels good on her bare arms and the fresh air fills her lungs with each breath she takes—breaths that are fairly shallow since her confrontation with Glimmer. She has to laugh inwardly at the first impressions she had conjured of the kind of woman who Peeta had married. True, she's as beautiful as Katniss imagined, maybe more, but the cold look in her eyes unmasked the pretty façade.

She rummages in her bag as she nears the station, digging around for the other half of the round-trip ticket that she had purchased on the ride here. It would have been nice to drive back with Peeta, but it's probably better this way. Her fingers finally locate the little stub near the bottom of her bag, sticking out of a compact where it must have inadvertently gotten caught. She crosses the parking lot and moves to mount the stairs leading to the platform.

"Katniss!" She spins on her heel at the sound of his voice. Peeta's rushing towards her, and she cranes her neck to see his car idling across two spaces near the front of the lot. He slows and takes a deep breath then releases it. "Why did you run off?"

"I, ah, didn't think you needed me hanging around waiting for you and Glimmer to…finish…talking," she supplies, choosing her words carefully. He gives her a droll smile and shakes his head.

"I told you things were bad. Now you see it for yourself." He reaches for her, fingers gently gripping her arm and rotating it to the underside, examining the tender skin. "She didn't hurt you, did she?"

Katniss glances down at where his hand rests on her arm, and she hopes he doesn't notice how she trembles at the innocent touch. "No, she didn't. I would have taken care of her if she did."

"Right, the guy in the diner," Peeta chuckles softly. "I guess I should take note not to mess with you."

"Glimmer's…not what I had expected," she confesses, changing the subject so as not to let her imagination get carried away with just how much she'd like him _to_ mess with her.

"Funny, it turns out she's not what I expected either." The regretful timber to his voice saddens her, and she yearns to be able to comfort him. "C'mon. You're not really taking the train back. Let's go together." He slides his fingers down her arm, raising goose bumps in their wake, and he squeezes her hand. She nods wordlessly and treks back to his car, still clinging to his hand. He opens the door for her, and she swallows and exhales slowly when he shuts the door and she has a second to herself before he slides into the driver's seat.

"You mind if we take a quick detour before we head to work? We've got a bit of time," he asks as he puts the car in reverse and backs out of the lot. Katniss shakes her head and clicks her seatbelt into place, nestling into the plush leather seat and glancing around the car's interior. It's elegant without being showy, and Peeta keeps it immaculately neat.

"Thanks for the ride," she says quietly as he fiddles with a few buttons on the steering wheel and the speakers hum to life. He settles on a Top-40 station on the satellite radio, and Katniss drums her fingers against the console in rhythm with the song as she gazes out the window.

"It's my pleasure," he returns, and she feels his eyes on her. "Seems silly for you to take that train when we're going to the same place." She glances over, but his focus is back on the road, his hands positioned high on the steering wheel. She swallows again to quell her dry throat and calm herself, wishing she had grabbed a bottle of water from the vending machine at the lottery office.

They drive in silence for a while, which makes her uncomfortable because just last night the conversation had been so easy and she had discovered just how much she enjoyed talking to Peeta. She searches for something—anything—that she can think of to initiate a chat. While her mind reels, she sneaks quick glimpses at him and hides a smile when she notices his lips are moving, mouthing the words to the song on the radio though no sound comes out.

"What?" His voice takes her by surprise, and she looks away, embarrassed she's been caught staring at him. "What were you smiling at?" She fidgets with her hands in her lap, suddenly completely engrossed with the cuticle on her right thumb. "Was I lip-synching again?" he asks, and his mouth quirks up when she can't contain her own smile.

"Yeah, you were," she laughs. "Do you do that often?"

He shakes his head. "Nah. It's usually not lip-synching." He shoots her a devilish smile. "My voice isn't half as good as yours, but I kind of enjoy singing along when I'm alone."

She stares at him again, and his eyes flicker between her and the road. "What do you remember about my voice?" she asks.

"I remember the first time I heard it," he replies, flicking the blinker and turning into a large building complex. "Kindergarten. You sang 'The Valley Song' in music class and everyone listened. A voice has to be pretty special to command the attention of an entire room of unruly five-year-olds." He parks the car and turns to face her. "I think even the birds outside the classroom window were jealous of you."

"Stop," she says softly. "You're being silly."

"You need to learn to take a compliment," he chides, leaning over the seat. Her chest inflates with the sharp draw of breath she takes, and her body alights with anticipation, but he reaches past her towards the glove compartment and withdraws a large manila envelope. "Be right back."

As he exits the car, she slumps back against the seat, heart racing. Did she really think he was going to kiss her? She shakes her head at her foolishness, though the churning sensation in her stomach reminds her that she certainly _wanted_ him to kiss her. The more logical part of her knows he'd never kiss her. Even if his marriage is all but over, he doesn't strike her as the kind of man who would bounce right into a rebound relationship.

She peers out the windshield and studies the building in front of her: _Panem Municipal Building and Township Offices_, the large stone edifice proclaims. The municipal building houses a network of offices—the tax collector, the county's parks and recreation department, the courts. The police department has its own annex off to the east wing as well. There's any host of reasons why he could be inside. For all she knows, he has unpaid parking tickets.

While she waits, she checks her phone, which was on silent for the duration of the press conference and notices a text from Gale.

_Gale: hey catnip. drinks on me tonite at the hob as a thank u for dealing w my beast. does 8 work for u?_

The Hob is a bar in the older part of the city, a favorite of hers, and Gale knows it. It's homey without being sycophantically trendy, and there's a comfortable atmosphere and live music most nights. She knits her brows and texts back that she's supposed to close Abernathy's and asks if he can't do tomorrow. She has Wednesday off this week, so she can kick back a little more without anything to do the next morning. Her phone chimes almost immediately.

_Gale: ok youre on. see u then. _

When Peeta arrives back at the car almost fifteen minutes later, he thanks her for her patience but says nothing else. She tamps down the urge to question him about the envelope—she figures time will tell if he doesn't offer details sooner, and she will do herself no favors prying into his private matters. They drive to the restaurant in relative silence with the radio the only sound.

If things are meant to be with Peeta Mellark, she'll just have to be patient and let him make the first move.

* * *

Her first day at Thirteen-12 goes smoothly. Business is steady, but not busy, and she appreciates the measured pace to get accustomed to her responsibilities. Answering the phone is initially a more challenging task than it should be; she stumbles the first few times before she gets into a rhythm with the little greeting Peeta instructed her to use.

She doesn't see much of Peeta; he and Finnick spend most of the day holed up in their office, alternating the occasional walk-throughs, chatting amiably with customers, and check-ins with her at the hostess stand. Peeta always has a reassuring smile for her, but he seems distracted.

She likes Finnick immediately. She could tell from that first meeting in the diner that he was an affable guy: charming and confident but not enough so to fully descend into 'cocky arrogant douchebag' territory. He engages her in small talk each time he approaches, mostly about trivial things that get her to open up a little, and when she reciprocates and asks about his newborn son, he lights up like a Christmas tree and whips out an iPhone, scrolling zealously through photo after photo. She has to admit Nick is an exceptionally cute baby.

Just before five, the evening hostess arrives and Katniss feels her sizing her up, eyes coolly appraising her. She knows Lavinia had applied for Annie's leave, and Katniss assumes she will not be a favorite of the tall redhead. Lavinia finally gives her a terse smile when Katniss politely goes over the reservations for that evening and retreats to the back to gather her things.

She hesitates outside Peeta and Finnick's office, raps lightly on the door with her knuckles and opens it when she hears them both call out, "Come in!" They are seated at the same table she and Peeta had lunch at a few days earlier, poring over a stack of papers.

"I, uh, Lavinia is here, so I guess I'm done for the day?"

Peeta stands and pushes in his chair. "Yeah, you are." He smiles. "I'll walk you out?"

She hitches her bag higher on her shoulder and shakes her head. "That's not necessary. I'll be fine."

"You're walking home?" he asks pointedly, and she nods.

Finnick glances up at Peeta. "We're finishing up here, and I'm actually heading out in a few minutes, Katniss. I can drive you home, if you'd like."

"My apartment really isn't that far from here," she replies. "Thanks for the offer, though. And the concern," she adds with a smile. "It's kind of nice to have two men worried about my well being."

Peeta frowns and folds his arms, tapping his fingers against his biceps. He purses his lips, as if he's going to speak, but all he says is, "Okay. We'll see you tomorrow." He pulls out his chair and he and Finnick resume leafing through the papers, Finnick occasionally tapping at an iPad as they talk quietly.

Katniss closes the door behind her and says goodbye to Thom, who is going over the night's specials with the evening staff. He gives her a friendly wave as she exits the restaurant.

The sun is just starting to inch towards the horizon, the slightly longer days a result of daylight saving time beginning a few weeks earlier. The temperature hasn't dropped too much yet, so she leaves her jacket off as she starts up the sidewalk towards the direction of her apartment.

But as she walks, an unexplained frisson slithers down her spine, and she scans the surrounding area, searching for the cause of her sudden sense of apprehension. And that's when she sees him. She inhales sharply and tries to continue walking as if she hasn't noticed him, seated behind the wheel of his battered Jeep Wrangler.

Cato.

Her pulse quickens as she continues on her way, resisting the urge to glance behind her to see if he's still parked across from the restaurant. Traffic is steady; it assuages her anxiety a little to know if he has pulled out from his idling spot, he won't be able to plod along. The impatient commuters won't stand for it.

She reaches the crosswalk and waits for the light to change. When it does, she rushes briskly across the intersection with a crush of other bodies, and she chooses that moment to take a quick peek back up the road.

Her eyes meet his briefly when she sees his Jeep at the traffic signal, its grill protruding into the crosswalk, as if he had to brake abruptly to avoid running a red light. Before she looks away, she sees the malicious smile on his face, and a new flurry of chills seizes her. She steps up onto the curb and holds her breath as the light changes and the squeal of his tires pierces the air as he tears off out of sight.

* * *

By Tuesday evening, she is ready for a night of drinks and conversation with her best friend. Work was hectic that afternoon; both Peeta and Finnick speculated the official release of their names—and subsequently, Thirteen-12's—led to a spike in business. She left the restaurant a half-hour later than usual without even saying goodbye to Peeta. She managed to sneak in a quick nap before changing into her favorite pair of jeans and a gray Henley tee shirt and heading to the Hob.

"Katniss Everdeen! To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Katniss shakes her head and smiles easily at Darius as she settles onto a stool at the bar and sets down her purse. The tall auburn-haired man has been tending bar at the Hob since before Katniss was legal and Gale has teased her for years that the guy harbors a crush on her.

"Hey, Darius. Meeting Gale for drinks. I walked his monstrosity of a dog while he was away for a few days, and I think this is my payment."

He laughs. "I hope you've got a DD tonight then. I'd go to town if it's on Hawthorne's tab. Though I heard you'll hardly be needing to worry about money anymore." He raises an expectant eyebrow at her.

"Yeah, I guess that cat is out of the bag."

"It's great, Katniss. Congratulations. What can I start you with? The usual?"

She nods. "Yeah, thanks."

He grins and waggles a bottle of Grey Goose at her. "Wanna upgrade? You can afford the good stuff now."

She laughs and leans against the bar. "Why not?" She watches him fill a high-ball glass about a third of the way with the vodka before he grabs the soda gun and tops it off with a healthy splash of tonic. After adding a twist of lime, he slides the drink to her. She accepts it with thanks and asks him to start a tab, and he nods before moving down the bar to refill some drinks.

"Catnip!" She swivels on the stool at the sound of Gale's voice and her excitement at spending the evening with her best friend dissipates immediately when she sees Madge is at his side. She fights to keep a frown off her face as they approach her. "Catnip," he repeats, giving her a broad smile and leaning down to gather her to him in a crushing hug. She resists at first then eases into the embrace, returning the hug. She avoids Madge's eyes over Gale's shoulder.

"Hi, Gale." She nods and gives Madge a polite smile. "Madge." She angles her face so Madge can't see her give Gale a pointed look, one that clearly shows her disdain for the intrusion. They perfected nonverbal communication as kids, and he can usually read her like a book.

But he doesn't seem to acknowledge her irritation and wraps an arm around Madge, drawing her flush against his side. The petite blonde smiles up at him adoringly, and Katniss takes a long sip of her drink to keep from snorting in disgust.

"Some things never change," he snickers, motioning to her vodka tonic.

"I'll have you know this is Grey Goose," she retorts, swirling the drink stick through the clear liquid. She bites back a laugh when he winces, but she doesn't intend to let him pick up the tab tonight, Brutus or not. She had really just been looking forward to catching up with him. Being that he was away, she's pretty certain that he has no clue about the lottery.

"Hey, man!" Darius reappears and lunges over the bar to slap hands with Gale. "How are you tanner than usual?"

"We were in the Caribbean. Darius, this is my fi—" He stops abruptly and clears his throat, glancing down at Madge and then over to Katniss quickly.

Katniss understands immediately. A knot tightens in her stomach as she looks down at Madge's hands and sees the sparkly diamond winking in the dim bar lights. She swallows, a lump rising as reality crashes over her like a breaking wave.

"Congratulations," she says quietly, plastering a stiff smile on her lips. "That's great news."

"Thanks, Catnip. We wanted to tell you in person." He beams down at Madge.

Katniss stares at them, contemplating what she'd like to say and what she knows she needs to say. She's never had to censor her speech around Gale before—they've always been blunt with each other, which was the cause of frequent arguments when they were dating. And it led to harsh feelings—mostly his—after their breakup, which took a few years to fully heal.

And now that she's finally gotten Gale back, he's slipping away again.

"The usual, Gale?" Darius calls.

Gale shakes his head. "Nah. My fiancée and I will both have a Woodchuck." Madge grins up at him. Katniss stifles a snort again and downs the rest of her vodka tonic. Gale hates cider. Yep, the ball and chain has firmly clamped down on him.

"So I've got some news of my own," she declares, setting down her empty glass with an emphatic thump on the bar. She nods at Darius, who immediately fixes her another one. Gale raises his eyebrows and waits. "I kind of won the lottery."

Madge emits a little gasp, but Gale rolls his eyes. "You're fucking kidding," he laughs dryly. "Nice one, Catnip. I know we might have taken you a bit by surprise with our news but—"

"I'm not kidding, Gale." She crosses her arms and locks eyes with him. "You can ask anyone. Ask Darius. It was all over the news today."

Darius bobs his head enthusiastically. "Your best bud is a millionaire, Hawthorne. Now you know why she's drinking the good shit."

Gale's jaw drops. Then his eyes light up and he grabs Katniss around the waist, twirling her about in a circle until she smacks him on the forearm and he puts her down. "Holy shit, Catnip! When? How? You never gamble."

She fiddles with the stirrer in her drink. "Um, last week. Right before you left for your trip, I, uh, had a customer at the diner—before I was fired—and he didn't have any money and he kind of gave me half the ticket as a tip."

Gale whistles through his teeth. "What kind of a crazy nut does that?"

"Did he know the ticket was a winner when he tipped you?" Madge asks, awed.

"He's not a crazy nut," Katniss replies, giving Gale a scowl. "And no, he didn't—"

"Then he probably thought he was leaving you nothing," Gale chuckles. "So he's a dickhead."

Katniss feels herself getting defensive. "God, will you let me finish? He's not a dickhead. And he said he would come back with a generous tip if the ticket wound up a loser. I'm pretty confident he was expecting to do just that." She sighs and continues with the rest of the details about the winning ticket—it seems she can recite them without hesitation at this point—but she leaves out the one detail that she knows will open up more of an interrogation by Gale: Peeta's name.

But then Madge has to go and ask. "I can't believe someone would actually honor that promise. Who was it, Katniss? Had you waited on him before? Was it a frequent customer? Was he trying to pick you up?"

She fidgets and tugs on her braid. "Ah, no. It was—" She coughs and tries to sputter the name without enunciating clearly. "Peeta Mellark."

As she suspected, Gale's grey eyes automatically darken and his back stiffens. "Peeta Mellark? Like the wrestler? The one whose dad had that deli?"

Madge glances up at Gale. "I knew Peeta. We had a lot of friends in common so we hung out sometimes. He was a great guy." She giggles. "I had a crush on him. I think half the girls in our class did." She turns to Katniss. "Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Have a crush on Peeta," Madge repeats.

Katniss shakes her head vehemently because she didn't—not in high school. And she thinks what she feels for him now goes way beyond the realm of a silly crush. "No, I, ah, I never really paid him much attention."

"He paid attention to you," Gale snorts. "He was always watching you. You're so dense when it comes to men, Catnip."

"Come to think of it, he did ask about you a lot," Madge says thoughtfully. "But I think he just assumed, like everyone else, that you two were dating." The muffled strains of Cyndi Lauper's 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun' drift from Madge's purse, and she pulls out her iPhone, eyes lighting up. "Sorry, I have to take this." She rushes away from the bar, squealing into the phone.

Katniss settles back on her stool and glares up at Gale, whose steely gaze bores through her. "What?" she exclaims. "What is your problem?"

"Don't get me wrong. I'm really excited for you if this money thing is for real. No one deserves a break more than you. But he's married now, Katniss. Don't be stupid. I know you too well. The way you just started talking about him—"

She sniffs and cuts him off. "You don't know me as well as you think do you or you wouldn't have brought _her_ to intrude on our night, engagement or not."

"Fuck, Catnip. I thought you'd be happy for me."

"I can be happy for you without her here. You could have told me yourself. Shoot me for wanting a little time with you. I miss you, Gale. I miss our friendship." She shakes her head and throws down two twenty-dollar bills on the bar. "Those ciders are on me. I'm not feeling well all of a sudden."

He grabs her arm as she moves to leave. "Don't. Come on. I'm sorry. What do you want me to do? Send her home?"

She shakes off his hand and stares at him sadly. "No. You two have fun. Celebrate. Tell Madge I said congrats again."

"Katniss!" he calls after her; she hears the desperation in his voice. But she keeps walking out into the chilly April night.

It's not until she's several blocks from the bar and approaching her building that she senses something is amiss. She squints into the darkness, the flickering streetlight across from her apartment bathing the street in a pulsating glow. It's been broken for months. When it remains lit for a prolonged stretch of time, her heart hammers anxiously when she recognizes Cato's Jeep parked a few cars up. Swallowing hard, she ducks into the alley between her building and the one before it and quickly locates her key.

Praying that the door doesn't stick this time, she dashes up the steps and ducks into the vestibule, a feeling of dread settling over her that these little 'visits' from Cato may only just be getting started.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** __Please remember that letting an author know that you enjoyed his/her work takes but a moment or two for you but stay with the author much longer. Reviews keep us motivated. There are many, many talented writers in this fandom that appreciate the kind words. I know I am grateful for the love you've shown this story via reviews, follows and favorites. _

_Thank you to ILoveRynMar and streetlightlove for their feedback on this chapter and to Jeeno2 and fenderfreak81 for their sage legal expertise and their supportive PMs. THG belongs to Suzanne Collins._

_If you have not already checked out the Fairy Tale Challenge that everlarkrecs ran last week, you're missing out on some phenomenal stories—many of which are here as well as on AO3. _


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10-Thursday, April 23****rd**

_**(Peeta)**_

* * *

Peeta loiters near the front of the restaurant on Thursday morning, trying to appear busy with menial tasks as he waits for Katniss to arrive. She was off work yesterday, and he hasn't really spoken to her much since she left on Monday evening. Tuesday was excessively busy—a bump in business that he attributes to the lottery story going public. He never even saw her leave that evening because they were so swamped. Wednesday had been much of the same, and he and Finnick had decided to put an extra waiter on the lunch shift and two more on the dinner shifts for the remainder of the week. If the trend continued, they would have to discuss hiring another full time server. He would also like to consider delegating more management responsibilities to Thom or Thresh—Peeta misses actually preparing food, and creating one to two specials a week is practically a tease.

A few minutes later, Katniss walks through the front door. She gives him a meek smile and a quiet, "Hey." She could be wearing a burlap sack and she'd still be beautiful, but she definitely looks tired. There is subtle purple shading under her eyes, and her skin has a slightly yellow pallor to it.

"Everything okay?" he asks gently.

"Oh, yeah," she begins, the smile stretching a little wider, but still not reaching those lovely silver irises. "Just tired. I didn't sleep well last night. Or much the night before that either." She doesn't elaborate, but her mouth rounds into a yawn that she fails to conceal. She offers him an apologetic smile. "Sorry."

"Don't be." He gestures towards her coat and her bag. "You want to talk about it?" She hesitates and shakes her head. "You want me to take those to the office for you?"

"No, thank you, I can do it." She glances around. "What do you need me to do this morning?"

He rattles off a few small tasks as they walk to the back of the house; he waits for Katniss to put her things away and say hello to a few of the kitchen staff. He's pleasantly surprised that in general, she's fitting in so well—a far cry from the reserved, aloof Katniss he knew in high school. He knows Lavinia has not been particularly welcoming to her, but he chalks that behavior up to jealousy. The redhead no doubt thought she was a shoe-in for Annie's position, but unbeknownst to Lavinia, Finnick wasn't keen on promoting her anyway.

"I guess I'll go get started on the lunch specials inserts for the menus," she offers, and he watches her turn to exit the kitchen, admiring the way the slim pencil skirt hugs her slender hips and the curve of her ass.

"Katniss, wait," he calls, and she pauses, hand on the door, facing him again. "There's something I've been meaning to mention to you," he starts, chiding himself silently for how sweaty his palms suddenly seem. "There's this gala coming up—two weeks from Saturday. It's a charity thing, actually. Most of the best restaurants in the city participate, and this year, Thirteen-12 was invited." She listens attentively as he elaborates on the details: how a sampling of dishes from each restaurant are stationed throughout the ballroom and for a donation to the sponsoring charity, guests can mill about, tasting and eating and drinking for the entire evening.

"That sounds really nice," she says..

"Finnick and I went last year, though we paid to do so. It's a really big deal that we were included this time. It's a nice night out—there's music and dancing as well. Anyway, the way it works is the restaurants provide a set number of dishes for the event, but the board of the charity hires the servers to man the stations and do the work. The management of each restaurant, as well as each executive chef, is expected to attend and be social." He wipes his hands discreetly on his pants, once again feeling foolish for how nervous he is to ask her to join them.

"Peeta, do you want me to go? Is that what you're getting at?" she asks bluntly, and he laughs, relieved.

"You're welcome to come, yes," he affirms. "Finnick and Annie will be there, and I'm pretty sure Thresh is going."

"No Thom?"

He shakes his head. "Someone has to manage the restaurant that night. He volunteered. It's the three of us and Jean-Carl. We have four tickets and four guest vouchers." He waits for her answer, wondering if she realizes this means, for all intents and purposes numbers-wise, that she would be his date for the evening. He's reasonably certain his head chef will be bringing his fiancée and he knows Thresh mentioned asking Johanna—though what he knows of Katniss's abrasive friend, he thinks she would be an amusing addition to the upscale scene. He watches her closely, and she looks deep in thought.

"I don't know, Peeta," she replies quietly. "Fancy food and dancing and dressing up…I'm not really good at social events. I wouldn't want to embarrass you—"

"Katniss, please. You would hardly be an embarrassment. You should see what some of these people consider classy. And I'm pretty confident that Thresh is going to ask Johanna, so between her and Annie, you'll have people to talk to. You'll be fine."

"I wouldn't have anything remotely appropriate to wear," she adds, shifting her weight and tugging at the end of her braid.

"I'm sure you can find something," he counters. "My brother's partner is a designer. He has a salon a few doors down from here. I'm sure he'd help you. In fact, I insist you visit him." He didn't realize how badly he wanted her to say yes until now, now that it seems as though she is searching for reasons to defer the invitation.

"I'll think about it," she says finally, giving him a tiny smile. "I should get back to work." And as she opens the door, Finnick breezes through, greeting her as she passes him, and he grins at Peeta.

"Morning, buddy!" he says cheerfully. "You can put your tongue back in your mouth."

"What?"

"The way you were looking at her, man. You're so obvious, eye-fucking the help."

"Katniss is not the help. And I was not eye-fucking her," he retorts. "We were just talking."

Finnick smirks. "About what? How badly you want to fuck her?"

Peeta exhales and shakes his head. "What are you doing here, Finn? You're closing tonight."

"Annie might have had a craving for our world-famous cuisine. I offered to come grab some take-out for her."

"I thought the cravings were supposed to end with the pregnancy."

"Ah, you see that's her favorite discovery about nursing. Nick eats like a horse. She can barely keep up with him. She's getting to indulge in all sorts of things and she burns it right off." He pokes his own stomach. "I, on the other hand, have to be careful I'm not following suit. I don't have the energy or the time to get to the gym right now."

Finnick chats briefly with one of the sous-chefs about what Annie would like and then follows Peeta into the office to talk while he waits for the food. Peeta asks about the baby and how things are going adjusting to parenting, and in spite of the slightly sallow tone to Finnick's normally bronze cheeks and the tired look in his eyes, the pride and elation in his friend's voice leaves no doubt as to how much he adores being a new father.

Finnick's eyes brighten as he leans back in his chair. "So speaking of the baby, Annie and I were making the arrangements for Nick's christening yesterday and while there was a healthy debate for godmother duties among Annie's sisters and cousins, we both knew immediately who we want for Nick's godfather. We'd be honored if you'd do it, Peet."

"Are you serious?" he asks, awed. "Of course, Finn. Absolutely." He rises from his chair, as does Finnick, and they share a little hug as Finnick claps him on the back enthusiastically.

"Thanks, man. You should know I had a whole Brando-style speech prepared to ask you but in the moment I just kind of forgot."

Peeta laughs and mock-shudders. "I'll live. Your Godfather impression is worse than your Rocky one."

"So now that that's out of the way, let's talk Katniss. What's the deal?" When Peeta shrugs casually, wanting to avoid getting into a lengthy discussion about his feelings for her, Finnick shakes his head. "Uh uh, man, spill. You were openly ogling her before. It's only a matter of time." He drums his fingers against the desk. "So when is Glimmer gonna get served already? Didn't you file, like, Monday?"

"Yeah, I did." He shrugs. "Should be any day now, I guess."

Finnick hoots triumphantly. "Yes! Don't get me wrong, I respect the institution of marriage and honoring vows and obeying and all that, but I don't think I've ever been so happy about a divorce as I am right now. She's treated you like shit for far too long, Peet. Man, I only wish I could have been the one to serve her!"

"I know you did, but Plutarch said it was best to go with a process server. This way you aren't dragged into testifying if this thing gets nasty down the line. Which I am hopeful it won't."

Finnick snorts. "This is Glimmer. Of course it's gonna get nasty." He leans back on his chair. "So how's hotel living then? Is the suite super sick? Is there an extra-large king bed so you can make a move on Katniss and finally get laid again?"

He raises an eyebrow at his best friend. "You don't think I should let the ink dry on the divorce papers before I act on what I'm feeling for Katniss?"

"Man, you're a fucking saint for even staying with Glimmer as long as you have, Peet."

"It's only been a week, Finn. It wouldn't look good."

"Says who?" Finnick says dismissively. "Things are pretty black and white. Your marriage was over. You've liked Katniss since you were what, twelve?"

"Five," he replies quietly. "From the first time I saw her."

"Even more reason to go for it. You didn't do anything until you filed. Glimmer had this coming, and she can't use anything against you. So fuck her, Peet. And fuck Katniss already." He waggles his eyebrows at him.

He's about to reprimand Finnick for his crass comment when the office phone buzzes and he picks up, knowing it's the hostess stand. "Katniss?" he asks.

"Peeta, I think you need to come up front," she says carefully. He can hear yelling, but it's unintelligible. He replaces the receiver immediately.

"Peet?" Finnick calls as Peeta rushes from the office and out through the front of the house.

"I don't have to listen to you, you stupid bitch! Where is he?" Peeta tenses at the sound of Glimmer's irate voice. He rounds the corner and stops cold. Katniss stands behind the podium, a determined look in her grey eyes, her hands braced on the edges of the beveled wood. Glimmer hovers before her, blue eyes flashing with rage. She's dressed for her Pilates class, her hair in a perfect ponytail, makeup carefully applied. (He's never understood why she bothers to get all dolled up for a workout where she is supposed to sweat.) She holds a folded sheath of papers in her left hand that she waves at him when her manic eyes land on him.

"What is this?" she screams. "What are you doing? You had me served, you asshole?" He hears the quiet hiss of Katniss's breath over Glimmer's yelling.

"This is not the place to discuss this," he says calmly. "Let's go to my office." He reaches for her hand, but Glimmer recoils, smacking him with the stack of paper.

"Not the place? You had me served with divorce papers at the gym in front of everyone, Peeta! How fucking cold is that?"

He hadn't considered it cold at all; when the clerk had taken the notes for the process server, asking where Glimmer was most likely to be found in her daily routine, Peeta realized it was the only place he knew for certain where she went during the day. It was a sobering reality that he knew so little about his soon-to-be-ex wife. "Let's go to my office," he insists, but she crosses her arms and sets her jaw defiantly.

"I'm not going anywhere. You can say what you need to say right here. How dare you!"

He steals a quick glance at Katniss, who shuffles the menu inserts, clearly uncomfortable at being witness to their fighting yet again. He reaches for Glimmer. "Come on. Don't cause a scene."

She laughs caustically. "A scene? Please. There's no one here but your little slut. And this is all her fault!"

Peeta sighs and meets Katniss's eyes. He feels a surge of adrenaline when he sees that determined look is still palpable in them. "This is not Katniss's fault. And you know it."

"Then what the fuck are these, Peeta?" she shrills, waving the papers wildly. "You really want a divorce? You're going to throw our marriage away just like that?"

"Throw away our marriage? Our marriage has been over for months! You can't honestly tell me you're surprised by this, Glimmer. What did you think I was doing Monday night when I moved out? When I _told_ you that I was done? Did you not think I was serious?"

She crosses her arms and sneers at him. "I figured you needed some time to cool off."

He shakes his head at her. "You were taking me for granted again. You just assumed I'd stay quiet and give in to you as I've done for too long now." He thinks back to the argument they had when he arrived home from work Monday evening; she had clearly been waiting for him to get back from the restaurant, poised for another confrontation. She had thrown herself at him again, and he had spurned her advances once more, telling her it was too late to save the marriage. Apparently, she hadn't gotten the message.

"I don't take you for granted," she snaps. "You're the one who's always working and—"

"Don't you dare throw my restaurant in my face! You know how important this place is to me, how happy it makes me. And until the lottery, Thirteen-12's success got you your gym membership and your little lunches and your shopping sprees."

She tosses her ponytail and smirks at him. "I could have asked my father for money anytime, Peeta."

He exhales a long shaky breath and tempers his reply, refusing to be goaded into bringing her father into this. "Glimmer, this marriage has been nothing but a piece of paper for almost a year. You've been cold and distant, and you never willingly spent any time with me or showed an ounce of interest in anything other than shopping or meeting up with Clove. You refused to even discuss children and—"

Katniss clears her throat. "I'm just going to go to the office, Peeta—"

Glimmer cuts her off abruptly. "You're going to be sorry, you know!" she says viciously. "I know you're the reason Peeta is doing this."

"Enough!" he yells sharply. Katniss quietly stacks the completed menus in the bin attached to the wall and slips from behind the host stand. When she is gone, he turns back to his seething wife. "You need to calm down and act like an adult. This is not Katniss's fault, and she stays out of this, you hear me?"

"Is it fun playing the knight in shining armor, Peeta?" Glimmer taunts. "Do you get off on it?"

He ignores her. "You got the papers. Did you read them?"

She tosses her hair and wrinkles her nose at him. "Yes, I read them!" she snaps. "I'm not an idiot."

"This can be very easy, Glim," he says softly. "Plutarch said we'll need to go through mediation, but given that I've cited irreconcilable differences and there are no children involved, he thinks we can settle this very civilly and fairly."

"Plutarch is a fat old drunk," she says nastily. "You can bet I'll be finding a lawyer of my own. You want a fight, Peeta, I'll give you a fight."

He sighs. "I didn't say I wanted a fight. And I really thought that you knew this was coming. I moved out. I'm not coming home."

"You move in with your whore?"

"Would you just stop it already? She's not my whore and she has nothing to do with us. This would have happened anyway." He takes another deep breath and adjusts a painting that is slightly askew on the wall. "You should know no matter what you think of me right now, I will always respect what we had. But when the time comes for me to move on and start dating again that will be none of your business." She opens her mouth to protest, but he silences her. "And you'll be free to do the same. And I hope you will, Glim. Because obviously somewhere we stopped making each other happy and I'm not going to keep living my life as unhappy as I've been."

"You're a fucking asshole," she hisses. "This isn't over, Peeta. And you can tell your little girlfriend that I meant what I said. She'll be sorry." With that, she spins on her heels and storms out of the restaurant.

Peeta exhales a long, measured breath and sinks to the bench opposite the door, burying his face in his hands. He should have known Glimmer wouldn't want to keep things civil. He remembers Plutarch's reassurance that however angry Glimmer gets the case should be very black and white. With no children and the lottery winnings, there won't be a lengthy dispute over custody arrangements and alimony. Glimmer has her own money now—ironically, the way he chose to divide the money three ways cemented that. His biggest concern is his business, but Plutarch's partner, Paylor, seemed confident that Glimmer would have zero claims to Thirteen-12. He rubs forehead and temples a few times, but it's a gentle touch on his shoulder that causes him to jolt. He uncovers his face.

Katniss smiles down at him ruefully. "You okay?"

He sighs and stands, causing her to withdraw her hand. "Yeah. I figured she'd be angry, and all, but I didn't think it would really shock her _that_ much. I guess she thought I was bluffing or something when I left with three suitcases and told her it was over."

"Seems pretty clear to me," she says, falling silent for a few moments. "I didn't know you had moved out."

He rakes a hand through his blond curls and settles it on the back of his neck, rubbing the tense muscles with his fingertips. "Uh, yeah. After the press conference on Monday, I filed the papers and that night I got a hotel room at the Hyatt. The one a few blocks over? I've got myself a nice commute now."

Her eyes meet his. "That's the stop you made on our way here that morning? The manila envelope?" He nods. "I'm sorry, Peeta."

"So am I," he murmurs. "But like I've told you, Katniss, this has been a long time coming. And the way she acts only makes this easier, to be honest." He sighs and turns to head back to his office.

"Peeta?" He glances back at her. "I'll go. To the gala. With you." And the smile she gives him is so genuine that it instantly lifts his mood and he thinks of little else but the prospect of spending an evening in her company for the rest of the day.

* * *

After leaving work, he drives by his house, scoping out the driveway to see if Glimmer's car is there. The condo is dark, so he assumes it's safe to go inside, and he spends about twenty minutes gathering up some more of his belongings. He's going to need to rent a storage unit while he looks for a place of his own—he's not going to fight Glimmer on the house. She wanted to live in Victor's Village, let her stay there.

When he had told Finnick and Annie his intentions to end his marriage and move out, they had generously offered to put him up in their guest room until he made some decisions about the future. Peeta appreciated the gesture, and though he loves his friends and would have enjoyed spending time with them, he thought that they needed to have these first days as a new family to themselves. He promised to take them up on the offer to join them for dinner occasionally, especially given that meant he could spend some time with Nick.

His newfound wealth made it an easy choice to book the penthouse at the Hyatt. He couldn't tell exactly how long he'd be calling the hotel home, so it figured he might as well live comfortably and in style for a few weeks. The suite is massive, with a sitting area, a full kitchen—he can't wait to cook for himself once he can stock the refrigerator–two bathrooms and two bedrooms. It's certainly too big for one person, but thanks to the attentive hotel staff, it's cozier than his own house has felt in months.

He gathers all of his legal documents for Thirteen-12 from his safe and empties his desk. His MacBook is already at the hotel, but he spends a few minutes transferring data off the desktop computer in his home office—he can't be too careful with how far Glimmer might go if she wants to play dirty. Flash drive in his pocket, he loads up the car and closes the garage door, driving straight to the Hyatt and parking his car in the hotel garage. He leaves the few boxes he packed in the trunk for the time being and heads up to his room with the things he took from his home office. Locating the tiny safe in the suite, he scans the directions on the panel beside it and creates a new access code before safely storing his documents and the flash drive inside. Just as he is about to close the heavy little door, his thumb probes the platinum band on his fourth left finger and he spontaneously twists it off, setting it atop the papers. He closes the safe with a soft click.

He opts to give one of the hotel's many restaurants a try instead of bringing back something from Thirteen-12 like he's done the last two nights. He doesn't even bother to change other than removing his suit jacket before he rides the elevator down to the second floor to an Italian place. After a surprisingly good meal and two Dewars, he decides to venture over to one of the bars on the first floor to grab a drink and catch the end of the NBA playoff game that's on. It's almost quarter to eleven, so he'll need to call it a night soon.

As he's crossing the lobby, he stops in his tracks. Her back is to him—her bare back, he realizes, as the shirt she wears leaves it mostly exposed, secured with two thin ties, one at the nape of her neck and another just below her shoulder blades. His eyes wander down the curve of her spine to her waist where a short skirt begins. Her toned legs look longer thanks to the heels on her feet. He's never seen her dressed so sexy before.

It's definitely Katniss, and she's not alone; he spots her friend, Johanna, beside her. The brunette wears an equally clingy outfit—a tight red mini-dress—and she's got her cell phone up to her ear. His curiosity as to what the two women could be doing here, in this hotel—in _his_ hotel—gets the better of him, and he saunters over to where they stand.

"Peeta!" Katniss exclaims, her grey eyes lighting up as she stumbles slightly in her heels and he catches her arm. He eases her back to stand upright, but when she clings to him, he suspects she's been drinking. Her eyes peer up at him from under smoky-shaded lids and a fringe of longer-than-usual lashes. She's so close that he can smell her perfume and see a fine sheen of perspiration at her temple, and he has to avert his eyes to avoid sprouting some major wood when he notices the swell of one breast and the lace edging of her bra where her shirt's neckline has slipped on one side.

Johanna turns around and nods her head, motioning to the phone. "Fuckers have me on hold again. How hard is it to get a cab in this damn town?"

"What do you need a cab for?" he asks, Katniss still clinging to him.

"_I_ don't need a cab," Johanna replies. "She does. I'm not letting her walk home."

"It's only twelve blocks," Katniss retorts, stepping away from Peeta with her steely eyes flashing. "I'm fine."

"She's had a few drinks. We both have," Johanna explains to Peeta. "But I'm meeting Thresh for a nightcap after he gets done at work. And she—" Johanna jerks her thumb at Katniss. "—needs to get home."

"What are you doing here?" he asks, glancing down at Katniss, who drops her gaze, suddenly fixated on her fingernails.

Johanna gestures at Katniss again. "It was her idea. Let her explain." She smirks at her friend, and Katniss's eyes dart back up, shooting daggers at the woman. Peeta clears his throat.

"Hang up the phone, Johanna. I can take her home," he offers. "I was just coming down for a drink. I don't have anything else to do."

Johanna knits her brows and cuts her eyes at Katniss. "What are _you_ doing here, Peeta?"

Katniss continues to pick at her nails, remaining silent, and so Peeta tells Johanna about the divorce and moving out and how he's essentially living in the hotel's penthouse until he can find a more permanent place. Johanna's tawny eyes fill with comprehension, and she smirks again as she disconnects her call.

"Makes total sense now," she crows quietly. "I knew this wasn't just about Gale and his new fiancée. You totally chose the bar in this hotel on purpose."

"Shut up, Johanna," Katniss scowls. "I need to go to the restroom." She gives her friend another piercing glare before walking carefully towards the ladies' lounge near the front of the lobby.

"Gale's engaged now?" Peeta asks Johanna, and the brunette nods.

"Yeah, he came back from his trip having proposed to her. Sweet, right?"

Peeta smiles ruefully. "It's a really exciting time when you get engaged." His stomach flips at the bittersweet memory of how elated he was when Glimmer said yes to his own proposal. He couldn't wait to tell anyone who would listen.

"Oh, most people would be excited," Johanna starts. "But not Brainless—"

"Brainless?" he interjects, smiling sardonically at the woman's odd term of endearment for Katniss. Johanna grins sheepishly.

"Sometimes Katniss is clueless. Brainless, you know—it just kind of stuck. Case in point, the way she reacted to Gale's happy news. You'd think she'd be thrilled for her best friend, congratulate him, ask for details on the proposal, fawn over the ring, all that shit—or at least be smart enough to fake it? Nope. She stormed out of the bar after he told her and she's been sulking around the past twenty-four hours."

"Maybe she's jealous," he says quietly.

"Oh, I hardly think she's bent out of shape about the engagement or the marriage itself. And if she's jealous, it's not about losing Gale, at least not romantically. She's been over him for years," she says knowingly, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "Between you and me, she's being a fucking baby. I told her so and she didn't like hearing it."

"Why?"

"She wasn't very nice when they told her they were engaged. And I told her to stop being such a bitch and apologize to Gale."

"What did she do?"

Johanna rolls her eyes again. "I'll let Brainless tell you herself if she wants to. But I knew something was up when she called me yesterday morning and insisted we go bar hopping tonight…get all dressed up. Told me she needed to loosen up a little and—" Johanna fails to fully suppress a grin—"Find herself a good fuck." Peeta coughs and widens his eyes. Johanna laughs and shakes her head. "Those might be my words, not hers. But then we get out here tonight and that agenda had completely changed. She wouldn't give any of the guys I pointed at a second look. I knew she was all talk."

"She doesn't date a lot?" He feels a little guilty prying into her personal life like this, but Johanna doesn't seem too concerned with keeping things private.

"She doesn't have the best track record lately. You know all about that Cato douchebag, right?"

Peeta nods. "Yeah, she told me."

"She'll never admit this to anyone if she even admits it to herself, but I think she's lonely. Katniss has always prided herself on not needing anyone, but her best friend gets engaged, she finds out her little sister has been dating a guy for months and didn't tell her…she dumps a total loser." Johanna sighs. "She needs a nice guy, Peeta. Not someone who is going to fuck with her and mess with her heart."

The cautionary look in her eyes registers with him immediately. "I would never hurt her, Johanna," he replies firmly. Johanna gives him an imperceptible nod. To further plead his case, Peeta lifts his hand and wiggles his bare fingers, indicating to her that he has removed his wedding band.

"Maybe I should go check on her," she says.

"I'll wait for her and walk her home, I promise," Peeta assures Johanna. "Go ahead and meet Thresh. He's done in about twenty minutes."

"Thanks." Johanna smiles. She leans in and lowers her voice, and the sarcastic, playful tone returns. "Watch yourself though. She can be feisty…er when she drinks. She doesn't do it often enough."

"I can hear you, you know," Katniss says, suddenly reappearing behind them, and Johanna grins in response.

"Night guys!" she calls over her shoulder, wriggling her fingers at them.

Katniss gives her friend's retreating figure a dirty look before cutting her eyes to Peeta. He clears his throat again. "I'd ask you to join me for drink but Johanna seems to think you've had enough. You want to talk for a little while before I take you home?"

The corners of her mouth tug down in a frown. "I can get myself home, Peeta. I'm not that drunk," she insists. He reaches over and brushes a tendril of hair out of her eyes, and he can hear the little intake of breath as he tucks it behind her ear.

"I made a promise to her. You should know by now that I keep my promises."

She scowls and rolls her eyes. "Okay. You win." He places a hand on the small of her back, feeling the heat of her bare skin beneath his fingers and he imagines how nice it would be to take her up to his hotel room and undo the two knots on the scrap of fabric that passes for a shirt and peel it from her body before exploring her naked breasts with his mouth.

"So what were you and Johanna doing out tonight?" he asks casually as he offers her his arm when they reach the sidewalk outside the hotel. He's curious to see if her reply matches that Johanna already gave him.

"Just two friends having drinks and shooting the shit," she replies. She shivers visibly as the night air hits them, and he wishes he hadn't removed his jacket in his hotel room. He could have draped it over her shoulders and provided her with a bit of warmth as they walk. He considers wrapping an arm around her but dismisses it—too intimate. But the cold air has raised other reactions in her, and he can't prevent the twitch in his pants as his eyes rake over the peaks that her nipples create against the fabric of her flimsy shirt.

"So Gale's engaged?" he supplies, mentally willing his hard-on to dissipate.

"Yeah, neat, huh?" she answers.

"You're not happy for him?"

She sighs. "No, I am. I really am. If Madge makes him happy then I'm glad they found each other. She's a really nice girl and all. They're good together. I guess it just took me by surprise, that's all, and I reacted badly. I mean they've only been dating a year."

He repeats the words he spoke to Johanna earlier and waits for a reaction. "I guess when you know, you know."

"I guess."

"And they knew each other in high school, right?" he continues.

"Yeah, I guess."

"It's different for everyone, I think—"

And then she gasps, cutting him off before he can complete his thought. "Oh! I forgot to tell you! Prim got into Harvard, and it's really thanks to you that she's going to be able to go. I'd never have been able to afford medical school for her without the lottery money, so I thought you'd like to know." She pauses. "So thank you."

He grins down at her. "That's awesome, Katniss. Prim is such a good kid, and she'll be an excellent doctor. Your parents would be so proud."

"Yeah," she replies wistfully, and they walk in silence for a few blocks. "Shit," she suddenly hisses under her breath. She stops in front of what he assumes is her building and stares across the street.

"What?" he asks softly. He sees nothing but a few parked cars. Then he squints his eyes and looks more closely and he can make out a dimly lit dashboard and a shadowy figure inside a Jeep among the parked vehicles.

"That's Cato."

"Your ex? What is he doing outside your apartment?"

She shifts her weight and bites her lip, hesitating. "He's been outside my apartment for the past three nights," she confesses. Peeta immediately pictures her tired face earlier that morning. Has she not been sleeping because of this?

"Why didn't you tell someone?" he chides. "Why didn't you tell me?" Her eyes meet his with that steely determined gaze that has become so familiar, but she remains silent. "Is he stalking you?"

"It's just a few phone calls and a parked car," she says, but her voice is less confident than her expression suggests.

"Katniss, I don't like the idea of you being alone in your apartment with this guy hanging around." He recalls the things she shared about the guy, and it worries him that she thinks she would be able to overpower him if he's the strong, hulking guy she described him as.

"He's harmless," she counters, searching through her purse for her keys. "He's not smart enough to be dangerous. Fuck, where are they?" She glances up at him apologetically. "I'm always losing my keys."

Peeta looks over at the Jeep, and he can see that Cato has lowered the driver's side window and is glowering at them—at him especially. Their eyes meet briefly, and the menace is palpable in Cato's cold stare. He doesn't look harmless—at the moment, he looks murderous and he continues to glare at Peeta, never breaking eye contact.

Katniss's phone pings as she's digging through her purse. She grumbles and fishes it out, glancing quickly at the screen. "It's him. He's such an asshole," she mumbles, shoving the phone back in her purse and resuming her search for her keys.

"Why? What did he say?" he asks gently.

"He asked me if that guy—meaning you—is the, and I quote, 'fucker I was cheating on him with' and if I had a nice date." She rolls her eyes. "He just can't accept that I wasn't into him. When he broke my phone, it's because he saw one of your text messages, and he assumed I was cheating on him."

Given the way Katniss is dressed and Peeta's own attire—his work clothes that he never changed out of—it's not an unlikely conclusion that she is arriving home from a date. "Katniss," he says quietly. "I have an idea." It's a pretty self-serving one actually, and he knows he could be crossing a point of no return in light of the feelings he has been trying to keep under control since he laid eyes on Katniss in the diner. And there's a slight chance that it could actually anger Cato more than it might persuade him to back off, but he decides to suggest it anyway.

"Found them!" she says triumphantly, waving the keys in his face, a wide grin on her face. Her countenance changes instantly when she looks into his eyes. "What did you say?"

"I have an idea to get Cato to leave you alone." He takes a step closer to her and winds an arm around her waist, encouraging her to move towards him. "Do you want to hear it?"

"Sure," she says softly, still gazing into his eyes. He smiles down at her.

"If he thinks we are on a date," he begins, moving the hand on her back in small circles while the other one traces the soft line of her jaw. "Maybe this will convince him that you're moving on and he's wasting his time watching you like this." He lowers his mouth to hers and gently brushes her lips with his. Her mouth is soft and pliant and warm, and his body reacts instantly. She gasps a little and grips at his shirt, leaning into him further. But he resists the urge to continue kissing her and releases her, holding her at arm's length. "Isn't that how most dates end?" he asks, dragging his thumb over the swell of her lower lip. "The good ones, anyway?"

Her silver irises are barely visible at the edge of her dilated pupils. "I don't date a lot. But…" She pauses and swallows. "Doesn't the girl sometimes ask the guy up for coffee?" There is a lilt to her voice that he's never heard before. It causes his dick to throb again and desire to well in his gut. Shit. Is that an invitation? She's right—she's not drunk, but it's possible her inhibitions are lowered thanks to whatever alcohol she has consumed tonight.

"I—we, ah, shouldn't…"

"We're pretending, aren't we, Peeta?" Her voice sounds almost regretful as she motions to the steps. "We go inside the vestibule and wait a few moments to see if he leaves. If he thinks you're coming up to my apartment to spend the night, maybe he'll take off." She reaches down and laces her fingers through his and fits the key into the lock, struggling with the door for a moment before it opens and she staggers inside, the door slamming shut behind them. He lurches out and steadies her, his arms catching her around her narrow waist.

"Whoa," he says, helping her to stand upright again.

Without warning she pivots in his arms, rises up on her toes and kisses him, her fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck. Her lips are needy and insistent, and he instinctively tightens his hold on her, drawing her body flush against his. His cock swells fully as the heat of her tongue swipes at his lower lip, and she tastes like lime when she sucks his tongue into her mouth.

Her fingers comb through his hair, massaging his scalp. It's almost hypnotic, and each of her breathy moans earns a twitch between his legs. He could do this for hours—and he definitely considers the temptation of taking this upstairs and spending the rest of the evening getting acquainting with her naked body.

But as painfully hard as he is and as much as his balls will hate him when he gets back to the hotel and he has to relieve the tension himself, he breaks the embrace. Katniss emits a little squeak of protest, and she covers her mouth in surprise, her molten mercury eyes glinting in the dim light coming in from the lamp outside the door. He can hear her breathing, ragged and slow, as he takes a quick glimpse out the door's narrow window. The Jeep is still there, but now the headlights glow. "I think he started the car," he whispers. She nods, and her phone chirps. As she pulls it from her purse, she reads the screen, swallows and holds it out for him to see. It's just one word: _slut_

Harmless, his ass. Peeta has half a mind to storm across the street and have a go at Cato. When the phone pings again, Katniss shuts it off without a second glance. "This happened yesterday," she says softly. "He texted me the nastiest things for over an hour before I finally shut off my phone. That's tame compared to what he sent last night."

He peers out the door again. "Tomorrow you're getting a new number."

"No, Peeta. I don't want to do that. Not yet." She shakes her head. "Everyone has that number, and it's a lot of work to tell people I changed it. I'm not going to let him intimidate me. They're just words." He studies her face, resolute and determined, her features just barely defined in the soft light.

He sighs. "Okay," he acquiesces. "But you need to keep track of this harassment, should it get to a point you need to do something more drastic. I have a lawyer that will draft up a restraining order for you to file if it comes to that."

"Stalking is difficult to prove. I've done a little reading. Just in case," she adds hastily.

He furrows his brows at her. "When did this start, exactly?"

"I told you, I first noticed his car outside Thirteen-12 the other day." She hesitates. "I think it was the same day the press conference aired. So he obviously figured out where I'm working now. The phone calls and text messages started last night."

"And now he probably knows that you've come into some money. Maybe that's his motive?"

"Could be," she replies thoughtfully. "I actually didn't consider that."

"Well whatever his intentions, you're not going to go through this alone. And I don't want you walking home from work or anywhere late at night anymore." He feels a tightening in his gut at the thought of her being cornered by Cato somewhere, and he's physically nauseated to think of what he might do to her.

She smiles. "I'm getting a car this weekend. Prim and her boyfriend are going to go with me. So I won't need to walk anymore, though I do enjoy it."

"Good. But I'm serious, Katniss—"

She cuts him off by leaning around him, and she exhales shakily as she peeks out the door. As she retreats, his resolve nearly crumbles at the feel of her breast grazing his arm when she moves back past him. "He's gone." She flicks on the light beside the row of mailboxes and smiles at him again. "Thanks for staying with me. Are you sure you don't want to come up for coffee?" There's that edge to her voice again, and she inches towards him, their bodies nearly colliding once more. He hopes she doesn't look down—it's still quite evident how turned on he is. Of course, there's a good chance she might have felt his erection minutes ago when they kissed.

He smiles contritely, listening to his head while his dick screams at him for being a fool and not taking her upstairs to see where the night leads. "I shouldn't, Katniss. Thanks for the offer."

Her beautiful face appears crestfallen for a split second, but then she leans up to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. "No problem," she whispers. "Have a good night."

"I'll see you tomorrow," he replies, reaching for the door. She nods and follows him onto the top step, wrapping her arms around her lithe frame as he descends the stairs and sets off up the sidewalk in the direction of the Hyatt. He glances back over his shoulder until she is little more than a subdued shadow in the distance.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **Thank you so much for the incredible feedback on Chapter 9. I really enjoy hearing your thoughts on where this story is going—and yes, Katniss and Gale will have their heart to heart in the next chapter when we get back to Katniss's point-of-view. Your kind words motivate my writing muse for sure._

_Please remember that although I have two wonderful legal experts—jeeno2 and fenderfreak81 giving me their advice at various intervals of the story, Panem is a fictional state for a reason, and any creative liberties I've taken are mine alone. _

_To ILoveRynMar and __streetlightlove—thanks for your feedback on this chapter and your support and friendship. Please check out A Healing Heart—streetlight's new story! Peeta and his dog...enough said. (No bitchy Glimmer there to keep him from owning one, haha)_

_And to this chapter is dedicated to HGRomance in honor of her brilliant Fae coming to an end. Thank you for sharing your gift with us and giving me hours of enjoyment reading your words._

_Thanks for reading. ~C~_


	11. Chapter 11

_Enjoy the extra-long chapter...I followed my outline and this still took on a life of its own!_

Rest of notes to follow...

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**Chapter 11-Friday, April 24****th**

**(**_**Katniss)**_

* * *

Aside from the fact that she has a pounding headache that two aspirin have yet to alleviate (which is irritating in itself because she did _not_ have that much to drink), Katniss finds it's her stomach that is causing her the most anxiety as she gets ready for work that morning.

After Peeta left last night, she hadn't been able to sleep. She read. She watched bad infomercials—and resisted the temptation to order an entire new set of kitchen knives. She played solitaire on her outdated PC for over an hour. By the time she finally laid down in her bed, her eyes still would not stay closed. She kept replaying that kiss in her mind, savoring the memory of his soft lips on hers, wishing he wasn't such a damn noble guy and hadn't stopped it when he did. Her imagination had started to run wild with all the fantasies inundating her. She was finally able to find the slumber she desperately sought when she slid her hand down the front of her panties and her fingers found her clit, already swollen and begging for relief. This time, she didn't bother to try to keep her mind off Peeta, and she definitely didn't restrain herself from conjuring up an image of his face and calling out his name when she came harder than she had in weeks.

But now she's nervous to see him. She had told herself she had been waiting for him to make a move—wasn't kissing her doing just that? Yet when she had taken a risk and tried to initiate more, he had pulled away. Her stomach roils with unease again. Is it possible she has been misreading his signals all along?

The drone of her buzzer interrupts her while she's brushing her teeth and getting ready for her run. Toothbrush sticking out of her mouth, she pads to the door and pushes the button. She manages to get out a "Yeah?" around the foam.

"Catnip, it's me."

Her heart thumps at the sound of Gale's voice through the tinny speaker. She presses the release on the door, giving him access to the building and rushes back to the bathroom, spitting the toothpaste into the sink and rinsing her mouth with water. A few seconds later, there is a gentle knock at the door.

"Peace offering," he says, thrusting a small white bag at her when she throws her apartment door open. His other hand holds a tray with two coffees, and his handsome face is earnest and remorseful. She takes the tray from him, sets it down on the small kitchen table and wraps her arms around him.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, his broad chest muffling her words. He squeezes her tighter and then pulls back.

"I'm sorry too," he answers as they both take their coffees and the white bag to the couch. "I should apologize for blindsiding you with my news the other night. I didn't think twice about bringing Madge along and that you might have been upset by it. I was just so excited to share our engagement with you and—"

She places a hand on his knee and shakes her head vehemently. "Stop. You weren't wrong. I was. I was awful to you the other night. I shouldn't have been so negative. You're my best friend, Gale. I told you when we broke up that that would never change." She stares down at her coffee and takes a quick sip, a smile instantaneously lighting her face. French vanilla with a little bit of cream and two sugars—he does still know her better than anyone. "I'm happy for you," she continues. "I really, really am. And I'm sorry if I was being a selfish bitch by letting my own fears get in the way of that."

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Catnip," he says gently. "This isn't going to change things between us, I promise. If we could get past all the bullshit after we broke up, you and I can weather anything." Then he reaches over and puts his coffee cup on the end table, taking her free hand in one of his and using the other to playfully swipe under her eye. "Is that a tear I see?" he teases and she swats at his hand. "I've seen you cry three times, and two of those times were when your parents died." He snickers. "And the other was when you watched _My Dog Skip_."

"Fucking dogs. If there's a dog in a book or a movie, there's like a 99 percent chance it's gonna die by the end, right?" They laugh together and she leans her head against his shoulder. "I love you, Gale. You know that."

"I do," he replies quietly. "And I love you. That won't ever change because I'm _in _love with Madge and plan to spend the rest of my life with her. Don't be afraid of that."

She sighs and opens the white bag that rests beside them on the couch and breaks the cheese Danish in half, offering him a piece. They chew in silence until she swallows the last bite of hers and clears her throat. "We're still going to be able to hang once in a while just the two of us right? I mean, since you moved back here we haven't spent much time together and I guess that's what I was upset about."

"I promise you I'll do a better job making time for that," he agrees, taking a long swig of his coffee.

"And I'll also try and reach out to Madge, okay? There's no reason why she and I can't be friends, right? She was always nice to me in high school."

Gale's grey eyes flicker happily. "That would mean the world to me, Catnip." He leans back against the cushions and studies her carefully. "I can't believe you won the lottery," he muses.

"I didn't win the lottery," she corrects. "Peeta Mellark won the lottery, and I happened to be in the right place at the right time. Sheer dumb luck–isn't that what the lottery is all about anyway?"

"You really believe that things don't happen for a reason? That life really is just about chance and luck?"

She shrugs and sips her coffee contemplatively. "I don't know. Maybe it's a little bit of both?"

"Will you finally get the hell out of this shithole of an apartment and get yourself a nicer place now that you've got the cash?"

"Are you going to house hunt with me?" she teases.

He nods emphatically. "If you wanted me to, I would. I'd have gone car shopping with you tomorrow too if you had asked."

She laughs. "I think Prim and Rory are kind of looking forward to it, actually."

She leans into him again and they ruminate about their younger siblings getting together. She's a little annoyed to learn that Gale has known about the relationship for weeks now. But then she gets him to change the subject by asking about how he proposed to Madge, and the animated, giddy manner in which Gale relates the whole scenario tells Katniss all she needs to know about her friend finding true love. She's never seen him, for lack of a better word, glowing like he is at the moment.

"Peeta Mellark, huh?"

She narrows her eyes at him. "Don't start with me, Gale. We're having a nice moment."

He downs the rest of his coffee and puts down the empty cup. "I'm not starting with you. I'm just surprised. He was so into you in high school and suddenly here he is, giving you winning lottery tickets and playing the hero. And if he's married—"

"He's not. I mean, he is, but he's filed for divorce," she explains, tucking her feet up underneath her. Gale gives her a reproachful look. "What? He took the ring off and everything."

"That doesn't make it better. If he's getting divorced that's bound to get messy and you don't want to get yourself caught in the middle of something." He reaches over and takes her hand. "Katniss," he begins seriously, "you know how much I want you happy. I'm glad you kicked that fucker Cato to the curb."

She hesitates, considering whether she should tell Gale about Cato's behavior over the past few days. "Yeah, I should have listened to you about him," she replies simply, earning an expression of mock indignation on Gale's face.

"Did Katniss Everdeen just admit I was right about something? First an apology and now another "you were right, Gale"? Are you really my Catnip?"

She smacks him playfully. "Shut up."

He traps her hand in his again. "I'm being serious now. The right guy is out there for you. You just need to keep looking."

"I know," she replies sullenly, shifting on the couch again and pulling her knees to her chest as she rests her chin there. She swallows. "But I like Peeta, Gale. I really like him. He could be the one," she adds softly.

He sighs and draws her into his side where she nestles into the crook of his arm. "Then be careful. I guess that's all I can say."

After a little more chatter Gale leaves for work and she goes for her run and showers. She gets ready for work and walks the few blocks, dismayed to learn that Peeta is not at the restaurant when she arrives. Apparently, he switched with Thresh and he's closing that night and won't be in until around one. Finnick gives her a warm greeting when she enters the kitchen and puts away her things in the office.

"So I heard you're joining us at the epicurean gala?" he says with a grin.

"Yeah, it sounds like a nice evening," she replies, locking her purse in the drawer. "I'm going to have to find something to wear. That dress I wore to the press conference was probably the nicest thing I own."

"Go to Peeta's brother-in-law's place. Annie always gets her dresses from Cinna."

"Yeah?"

Finnick nods. "He does amazing work, and he's one of the nicest guys you'll ever meet."

"Well, okay. Maybe I'll check it out."

"I think it's great you're coming. I can't wait for you to meet Annie. She's going to be a wreck being away from Nick for a night, but it will do her good. And she'll be thrilled not to have to spend the night bullshitting with Glimmer for once."

"Annie doesn't like Glimmer either?"

Finnick throws his head back in a laugh, his aqua eyes sparkling. "Are you kidding? I don't know anyone who likes Glimmer—and who could like the nasty woman who's been parading around making my best friend's life miserable for the last year and a half?"

Katniss can't resist digging for information with Finnick's disdain for Peeta's wife so apparent. "Was she always like this? I just can't picture Peeta falling for a girl like her. I mean, the girls he dated in high school were always blonde and pretty, but they were all nice enough. Did she change or something?"

Finnick looks thoughtful as he contemplates her words. "Peeta would tell you she's changed." She quirks an eyebrow at him, and he smiles wanly. "But I don't think she changed. If you ask me, Katniss, this is the real Glimmer. Spoiled, spiteful, cold…Peet was just too caught up in being in love to see it." He sighs. "And I think bringing home a girl like Glimmer to his parents—his mother in particular—well, I think he thought he could finally do something to match up to Grant. That's his oldest brother."

Katniss vaguely remembers that Peeta' eldest brother was some kind of football god at their high school. She doesn't recollect anything about the middle one—in fact, she's heard more about Kieran Mellark in the past week than she ever knew about him before.

"His mother is hard on him?" she asks.

"She's awful," Finnick shudders. "Nothing Peeta does is ever good enough. I mean, he's turned Thirteen-12 into a success from the ground up, mostly on his own. You know she's never even set foot in our restaurant?"

She's shocked. "His mother? No? Not once?"

Finnick shakes his head. "His dad comes in from time to time. You can tell he's proud. But his mother, man…I always thought Peet was joking in college when he'd talk about his mom. Then I met her." He does a mock shudder and laughs bitterly. "Peeta was actually being nice with the things he said."

"Peeta's such a good guy. How can someone not be proud of him?" She notices Finnick's lips have curved into a half smile. "What?"

He shakes his head and chuckles. "He is a good guy. It's a shame you didn't see it sooner. How did you two not hook up in high school?"

"What?" she exclaims, her eyes rounding comically at his question.

"I can see it, Katniss. It's really obvious. You two can't keep your eyes off each other when you're in the same room."

"I…I, no…Finnick…I don't…" She's so flustered that she can't manage a coherent thought. Has she been that transparent with her feelings for Peeta? Finnick's words ease her mind, though, given her paranoia earlier that morning. Maybe Peeta does want her too.

Finnick stands and places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Katniss. Don't worry about it. You haven't done anything wrong, and I know Peeta never cheated on Glimmer. But let me give you some advice. That marriage is over. Don't feel guilty about anything from this point on. You said it yourself: Peeta's a good guy. He deserves to be with someone who is truly gonna make him happy, give him what he wants and all that he deserves from life. I've known him long enough to say I think that someone could be you."

She blushes and fiddles with the chain of her necklace, considering Finnick's speech. "I like him, Finnick. A lot," she confesses, and saying the words again after having first confided in Gale lifts a weight from her soul. "But he's the one who's ending a marriage, and I won't complicate things for him. When he's ready, he'll show me."

Finnick's smile widens and he places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

"Thanks," she says, her flush deepening as she exits the office and heads back to the front of the restaurant to get ready for the day's business.

They've been open for about ten minutes when an older blonde woman steps through the front door, her hair carefully coiffed and a large pair of black sunglasses dominating her face. She slides the glasses down the bridge of her nose and glances around the foyer critically.

"Good morning, welcome to Thirteen-12," Katniss greets her, plastering a warm smile on her lips. "Are you dining alone today or will others be joining you?"

The woman turns her attention to Katniss, and the blue eyes rake over her disparagingly. She looks familiar, but the icy look she gives Katniss makes her apprehensive.

"I'm not here to dine," she says curtly. "I'm here to see my son."

Katniss swallows nervously. That's why she looks familiar. Peeta's mother raises a sculpted eyebrow at her. Her stomach twists for him—didn't Finnick tell her just moments ago that Mrs. Mellark had never set foot in Thirteen-12? And now here she is? This can't be good.

"Peeta doesn't come in until one today," she replies. "I can let him know that you stopped by."

Mrs. Mellark's eyes flash with irritation. "Perhaps I'll just sit and wait for him then. He's not being a very good son ignoring his mother's phone calls and text messages."

She decides to kill the older woman with kindness. "I can show you to a table while you wait. Peeta plans each day's specials and he has a wonderful Oriental salad and crab cakes on the menu this afternoon."

But Mrs. Mellark ignores Katniss and carefully arranges herself on the plush lobby bench, pulling out an iPhone and dropping her arctic blue eyes to the screen. Katniss heaves a sigh and returns to the podium, the tension in the air pregnant as his mother sporadically cuts those eyes in her direction. Reaching for her own phone, she taps out a text message to Peeta, telling him his mother is at the restaurant. His reply is immediate—_I'll be right there._

And he is—within minutes, though she is not expecting to see him in a sweaty Adidas tee shirt that clings to his defined pec muscles and sweat shorts, his blond hair damp. God, the swell of his biceps under the sleeves does things to her, and she feels herself getting warm. He gives her a quick smile before turning his attention to his mother, who is patently pretending she has not seen Peeta enter the restaurant. "Hello, Mother."

"Peeta. What a surprise," she replies coolly, slipping her phone back into her Hermes bag and rising from the bench, shooting a knowing glare at Katniss. "You couldn't clean yourself up a little?"

"I just got done at the gym and was about to get in the shower. What are you doing here?" he asks pointedly.

"A mother can't come visit her son at his establishment?"

"A mother can. You don't. You never have."

Mrs. Mellark's face tics subtly, but she suppresses any other reaction. "You didn't answer any of my calls or messages yesterday. We need to talk." She slides her eyes at Katniss once more. "Alone."

Peeta shakes his head, a bead of sweat meandering down his temple along his cheek and past his jaw. "You've come to my place of business. Katniss is doing her job, and she needs to be exactly where she is."

"She does not need to be privy to this conversation, Peeta. Not when it involves your wife."

"Glimmer's not going to be my wife anymore, Mother. I can assume from your presence here that she came crying to you?"

"She was quite upset, yes. Devastated, frankly. What is wrong with you, Peeta?" she reprimands him sharply, and Katniss wishes she could leap to his defense.

"I told you last week at brunch that I wouldn't make the same mistake Dad did. Apparently you don't listen to me any more than Glimmer does. I told her our marriage was over and I moved out."

His mother folds her arms across her chest and levels her gaze at her son as the front door opens and a group of middle-aged women bustle through, giggling like teenagers. As Katniss greets them and counts out menus, she hears Mrs. Mellark say in a hushed voice through clenched teeth, "Enough. This is not the place for this discussion. You have an office here so let's go there. Now."

Peeta sighs and brushes his sweaty curls off his forehead. "Fine." He gives Katniss a sympathetic smile and mouths 'thanks' as he leads his mother past the hostess stand and through the dining room.

She seats the women at a large booth in the rear of the restaurant where they can chatter and be noisy and not disturb as many other diners when the room eventually fills up, and when she returns to the foyer, Finnick is lounging on the podium, shaking his head at her.

"What?"

"It's like she has a beacon or something."

"Oh, because we had just been talking about how she had never been here?"

Finnick nods. "Exactly."

"She's only here because she figured Peeta would be. She's probably pleading Glimmer's case to him right now," Katniss explains, summarizing the little bit of conversation she overheard.

Finnick rolls his eyes. "Glimmer's biggest fan. And no shock, they're like clones of each other. A psychologist could probably have a field day with that one."

Katniss is about to answer when a rush of male guests flood the foyer. Finnick gives them a toothy grin and welcomes them and when they ask for a table for twelve, he nods to Katniss to begin arranging a space large enough to accommodate them. She heads into the dining room and informs Iris, one of their best servers, that she's going to put a few tables together and seat her with a large party. She knows the pretty waitress is thrilled—businessmen dining together generally leave generous tips when their company is footing the bill.

After Katniss has gotten them settled and resumed her post behind the hostess stand, she answers a few phone calls and finds herself nervously nibbling on a fingernail, anticipating Peeta's mother leaving. But it takes nearly twenty more minutes before she hears Peeta's voice. By then, the lunch rush is well underway, and as she is seating a party of two she only catches a glimpse of him leading his mother back to the front of the restaurant. His mother's visage is still stony, and Peeta looks exhausted. She hastily gets the older women settled at their table, tells them who their server will be and bolts back to the front. Peeta leans over the host stand talking quietly to Finnick, who stands shaking his head, his eyes stormy.

When he turns and meets her eyes, she offers him a compassionate smile. Finnick wriggles his eyebrows at her and slips away, leaving them alone.

"Thanks for the heads up," Peeta says.

"No problem," she replies quietly. "I didn't think you wanted to be railroaded when you got to work and figured it'd be better to see what she wanted sooner than later."

"And I appreciate it." He tousles his hair, which is now nearly dry, though a few patches of sweat still remain on his shirt. "My mother has actually never been in this place til this morning."

"I know. Finnick told me." She pauses, studying his expression. "Did you want to talk about it?"

He reaches over and covers her hand with his, giving it a gentle pat. "Not much to talk about. She took Glimmer's side just as I expected. Thinks I'm being cruel and heartless and that no Mellark has ever been divorced before and I'm as big a disgrace to the family as Kieran is. I got the 'thank God for Grant' speech a few times."

She's appalled that his mother could say such things to her flesh and blood and side with the woman who has treated him like shit for months. Her heart aches for him. "You're not a disgrace," she says emphatically. "It's her loss if she doesn't see what an amazing son she has. Don't listen to her."

"It's getting easier to do just that," he admits, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. "I'm going to go back to the hotel and shower and I'll see you in a bit."

When he returns, however, he keeps to himself and he barely looks up when she bids him goodnight a little before five.

She spends most of the evening picking up and setting down her phone, debating sending him a text or calling him or taking a cab to the hotel and buying him a drink. But she chickens out on all three accounts and nods off watching an old Cary Grant movie on AMC.

And when she awakens at almost two in the morning and checks her phone, she can't hide her disappointment that he never reached out to her either. Discouraged, she changes into her pajamas and falls into a discomfited sleep.

* * *

"Come on, Katniss, you aren't really going to drive yourself to this thing, are you? I know now that you'll have a fancy new car you want to show it off and all but if you fucking drive you can't drink and let yourself go."

Katniss glances at Johanna in the mirror and gives her a pointed glare as she looks back to critically study her reflection in the glass. "Yes, I am going to drive. I'm not planning to get completely smashed, Jo. This is a work function. I'll be with my bosses."

"You can come with Thresh and me then. He's getting a limo." She grins widely. "This is like our first real thing together that doesn't involve dinner or drinks."

"Funny, I thought the gala was all about dinner and drinks."

Johanna chuckles and raises her middle finger. "Fuck you." She grins and gestures to the mirror. "I like that one."

"I like it too," Madge pipes up. "God, you're so skinny. I would kill to be able to wear a dress like that." Johanna rolls her eyes, and Katniss hides a smile. The petite blonde may have a few more curves than either of them, but she's not even close to needing to lose a few pounds.

Gazing at her reflection again, Katniss purses her lips. She's not sure about the dress at all. For one thing, it's far sexier than anything she has ever dared to wear. The deep plunge of the neckline practically dips to her navel, and one move the wrong way would easily expose a breast. "I don't know," She pulls at the silky fabric and frowns at herself in the mirror. "I feel like I'm just waiting to fall out of this."

"That's what double-sided tape is for," Johanna replies gleefully. "And if it slips, well, you'll give Peeta quite the show."

"Johanna, shut up. Besides, I'm not sold on the color either."

"What the fuck is wrong with black? I'm wearing black."

"This gala sounds like so much fun." Madge sighs. "I wish I was going."

"It's a charity thing," Johanna says. "You can buy a ticket and wine and dine with the rest of the peons."

"You're going to be going to plenty of these kinds of functions if Gale stays in politics, Madge," Katniss calls over her shoulder.

To show Gale she was sincere in her intentions to include Madge in her meager social circle, she had extended an invite to his fiancée to join her and Johanna when they visited Peeta's brother-in-law's dress shop on Sunday morning to find Katniss a dress for the gala. Wasn't that the sort of thing girlfriends did together? She had honestly expected Madge to politely decline, as it was a Sunday and it was short notice, but Madge had accepted excitedly and was already waiting outside the dress salon when she and Johanna arrived together at eleven.

"How are we doing?"

Katniss whirls around at the gentle timber of the voice, and she sees Cinna, the owner of the salon smiling at her. She had liked Cinna immediately. He's a striking man, very attractive, with skin the color of nutmeg and golden-flecked eyes that he rims with gold eyeliner. From the moment the ladies had entered the store, he had made them feel at home, plying them with cappuccinos, and the women had spent nearly an hour combing through the gowns that Cinna had selected for Katniss.

"I'm not sure about this one," she hedges, meeting Cinna's eyes in the mirror as she turns back to face it. He ventures forward to stand before her, cocking his head to the side.

"Wait here," he orders, his full lips twisting into a secretive smile. He disappears again.

Katniss taps her foot on the pedestal, making faces at herself in the mirror. Johanna's head is lowered, her fingers tapping out a text message, and Madge is dreamily perusing the small selection of bridal gowns that Cinna has in the front corner of the boutique. Johanna finally glances up at Katniss. "Brainless, my shift starts at Cray's in twenty minutes. You can't possibly have not seen at least one thing that you liked."

"Oh, I liked a few of them," she concurs. "But nothing that I loved."

Johanna smirks at her. "I don't see what it matters. If you play your cards right, Peeta won't care what you're wearing because all he'll be thinking about is how to get it off of you to fuck you til next Tuesday."

"Jo, I said to shut up." But this time, a whorl of desire curls through her stomach at her friend's lascivious suggestion. She thinks again about him in his workout clothes yesterday and envisions those sturdy biceps bearing his weight as he drives into her.

"You can't tell me you're not thinking the same thing."

"Fuck off," she growls, feeling the heat creep onto her cheeks.

"You know you're going to need to get new underwear, Everdeen. Granny panties don't cut it under clingy evening gowns. Do you even own a thong?"

"Okay, you can leave now," Katniss retorts. "You're not helping." She ignores Johanna's cackles as Cinna returns, a colorful gown draped over his right arm. Madge wanders back over to settle next to Johanna on an ottoman.

"I cannot believe I almost forgot about this," he muses, extending his arm and holding up the dress for Katniss to see. "Why don't you take this one and see what you think?" He motions to the changing room, and she steps down off the pedestal and closes herself back in the fitting room. She shimmies out of the black gown, places it back on its hanger and turns her attention to the last dress. She steps into it, drawing the satiny fabric up over her hips and slipping her arms through the slender, jewel-encrusted straps. It fits her like a second skin, so as she reaches behind to draw up the zipper, she cannot reach it.

"Cinna?" she calls.

"You need help?"

She opens the door, and Johanna gasps, her hand covering her mouth. Madge squeals and claps her hands together. And a slow, knowing smile crosses Cinna's face, his countenance bright with approval.

"That's it." He grins, urging her up onto the pedestal again as he fastens the zipper and flounces the skirt up so it falls like rippling silk past the dropped waistline. "Perfect."

She scrutinizes her reflection for the umpteenth time that morning, and she blinks several times to reconcile the sight. The gown is exquisite. She has to admit she'd never have given the color a second glance; it's a soft, muted orange through the bodice and waist; tight, horizontal bands of fabric hugging her the curves of her breasts and hips where the dress yields to a narrow column of soft, flawless satin of a deeper orange hue. The hem at the bottom is nearly red; if she twirls just right, she realizes with a swish of her hips, she resembles a kindling flame.

Cinna nods modestly. "That's the one."

"Shit, Katniss, it's amazing." It's the closest to speechless she has ever seen Johanna.

"Really?" she whispers, still awestruck at her reflection. They all nod in unison.

"You look incredible," Madge adds.

"I don't know why I didn't give you this one in the first place. It's Peet—" He stops himself, clearing his throat softly. "You will look radiant. And it scarcely needs alterations. It's like it was meant for you," he finishes. But her curiosity is piqued. Cinna clearly caught himself before he revealed something he shouldn't have—something about Peeta.

He brings her a pair of heels to step into when she describes the silver sandals she's planning to wear, estimating the height she'll be when she's in them. He makes a few measurements and pins the gown in a few places and assures her it will be ready by Friday the 8th—Katniss smiles to herself. A new gown as just as good a birthday present to herself as anything else she might have bought.

Johanna bids her goodbye to head to Cray's, but not before she reminds Katniss to pay a quick visit to Victoria's Secret and get some sexier undergarments. The gown has cups sewn into the bodice—not that her breasts require much support—but Johanna is right, she doesn't own a thong, and she doesn't care go commando as Johanna gleefully boasted she would be doing.

She redresses and follows Cinna to the front of the boutique where Madge is eagerly discussing her visions for a wedding gown to the designer. Katniss figures if anything, asking Madge to join her this morning has earned Cinna another customer. Madge seems enamored with what she's seen in the shop.

Katniss begins rummaging in her purse for her wallet. Cinna draws up an invoice, but he holds out a hand when she produces her debit card.

"It's been paid for," he replies softly, his amber eyes sparkling mischievously. Katniss sighs and shakes her head.

"He can't, Cinna," she grouses, slapping the card against the counter. "I have money now, thanks to him."

"He insisted, Katniss. And I don't argue with my brother-in-law." She heaves a sigh and signs the contract for the dress as Cinna hides another smile. "I'll see you in two weeks."

She and Madge exit the shop; Katniss squints in the bright sunlight. The two women stand on the sidewalk, and Katniss clears her throat. She didn't really consider spending much more time with Madge than the dress store, but she feels like she should at least ask her to continue on to the next store with her. "So, um, do you want to come with me to Victoria's Secret? We could, ah, get lunch after?"

Madge's smile widens. "That sounds really nice, Katniss, thanks. But I'm actually going to meet Gale and my parents for brunch so we can pick a date and get going on the wedding plans." She lurches forward and enfolds Katniss in a tight hug. Katniss's hands hang awkwardly at her side before she responds and hugs the girl back. "Thank you so much for inviting me this morning. I had so much fun and I think I've found the place where I'll be getting my dress."

"Yeah, Cinna does do amazing work," Katniss agrees.

"We will do lunch one day when you're off work okay? And I'll have to come by and try Peeta's restaurant. It's been forever since I saw him." She gives Katniss a little wave and sets off in the opposite direction.

Satisfied with the morning so far, she walks the five blocks to the plaza where the lingerie store is located. A chirpy sales associate greets her as soon as she steps through the door, carrying on about which panties are on sale and if she buys a bra, she'll get ten dollars off. Katniss waves her off, intending to find what she's looking for quickly and get the hell out of the store.

But as she wanders through the aisles, scanning the tables of various undergarments, her eyes land on a rack of tiny, sheer nightgowns. Her first reaction is how uncomfortable it must be to sleep in something that barely covers what it's intended to cover, but then her mind wanders to a vision of Peeta ripping it from her body as he hovers above her. She feels her body beginning to respond to the daydream and her mouth goes dry. She's never stopped to consider the delicate negligees serve a far more important purpose than sleepwear—she's never had anyone she'd even want to don one for.

So when she finally locates the perfect pair of panties—a little scrap of pale orange lace that almost perfectly matches the gown from Cinna's—she can't help but gather a few other items from throughout the store and when she leaves several minutes and two hundred dollars later, it's with a small bulging pink-and-white striped bag. It never hurts to be prepared.

* * *

When she pulls into the small parking lot behind Thirteen-12 on Tuesday morning, having picked up her new car after leaving work on Monday, she's surprised to find Peeta sitting in his car, his iPad balanced on the steering wheel. She raps her knuckles on the window and he glances at her, a wide smile curving his lips up. He quickly shuts down the iPad and exits the car, grinning more broadly at Katniss's new car.

"You didn't go for broke?" he teases, walking around to admire the Infiniti G coupe.

She laughs softly. "Believe me, this was enough of a leap of faith for me. I'm not a fancy car girl at all. Prim would have liked to see me in a BMW or a Benz, and Rory tried to get me to get a convertible but really, this is nicer than I ever expected."

"It's beautiful," he agrees. "Congratulations."

"Thanks." She gives him a suspicious look. "Were you waiting out here for me?"

"Maybe," he teases. "I kind of didn't think you'd go through with it. I can rest a little easier knowing you won't be walking around in the dark when you leave here or Abernathy's. Speaking of which, have you had any visits from Cato since, ah, since the other night? Any phone calls?"

"Actually," she starts locking her car and following him through the rear door of the restaurant, which leads directly to the back of the house. "One text message Saturday morning asking me to meet him for drinks and talk—"

He interrupts, voice firm. "And you didn't, right?"

"I never replied back. Haven't heard from him since." She shrugs. "I don't know what to make of him, really."

"Well, stay alert, okay?"

He makes polite conversation with her as she puts away her things. Katniss is off weekends as per Annie's part-time schedule, but she finds herself wishing she logged more hours at Thirteen-12. She enjoys her time there—a stark contrast from the shifts she toiled at Cray's. The restaurant had been surprisingly busy Monday afternoon, and she had only managed a few words with Peeta, who had been in a staff meeting when she arrived and spent the day holed up in the kitchen messing with a large pastry sheet and an array of fruits. She had worried he was avoiding her and spent most of her Monday evening shift at Abernathy's obsessing over the thought.

But the conversation flows easily this morning, much to her relief. He asks her about her weekend and how it was spending time with Prim and Rory. She admits that the more she sees them together, the more she accepts that they are a really good match and she's happy that they decided to cross the line from friends to lovers, though she still tries not to think about her sister sleeping with anyone.

When she questions him about his own weekend, he shrugs nonchalantly. "Didn't do much. I was here most of it. Oh, I took my oldest nephew to the zoo yesterday morning before I came here to close. That was an adventure." He grins. "But it got me out of brunch with my family so it was a relative success for that reason alone."

She smiles, picturing him walking around the zoo, holding the hand of one of the tow-headed boys from the photo on his desk. "I bet your nephews adore you," she says.

"Not much impresses them," he replies. "They're pretty spoiled kids. But they're not my kids, so I get to do my thing when I'm with them and then send them back to my brother and his wife."

"I'm sure your mother was thrilled by your absence at brunch."

Peeta smirks knowingly. "Haven't said a word to her since she left here Friday. She made it clear where her allegiance lies. I did talk to my father for a long time on Friday night. He made me feel much better."

The office phone rings, and Katniss reaches over to answer it, handing the phone to Peeta when a deep baritone asks for Mr. Mellark or Mr. Odair. He holds up a hand. "Thanks. I'll pick up in my office." And with that, he disappears from the smaller office and she hears the door next door close soundly.

She doesn't see him again for the next hour as the morning staff begins to filter in. Katniss has just finished refilling the bowl on the hostess stand with mints and is rearranging the matchbooks when there is a loud knocking at the front door. She peers out of the glass she cleaned only a little while earlier and spies a man in a three-piece suit. She hesitates then opens the door and leans out. "Hi, sir, we're not open for business for another half-hour. Can I help you with something?"

He eyes her critically. "Are you Katniss Everdeen?"

Her pulse picks up its pace at his clipped tone. "I am," she replies uneasily.

The man nods and thrusts a thick packet at her. "You've been served." And he turns on his heel and stalks off up the street, leaving her stunned, staring at the papers in her hand. Served? She feels nauseous as she unfolds the papers and scans the lines of print until her eyes land on the words "alienation of affection." What the fuck does that mean? Her throat constricts, and she swallows again in an attempt to dislodge the golf ball-sized lump that has formed. Glimmer's name is in clear, bold print above the word 'plaintiff' and she sees her own name designated "defendant." She goes back to the top of the documents and reads carefully, the bile threatening to rise as the picture slowly comes into focus: Glimmer is suing her, alleging Katniss is to blame for the failure of her marriage to Peeta.

She clutches the papers in her hand and walks briskly to the offices in the back. Pounding her fist on Peeta's door, she's glad that Finnick has the day off and Thom is out on the floor, conducting a brief meeting with the bar staff. When Peeta doesn't respond immediately, she knocks again and waits. She chews on her lip anxiously as she grows more impatient, her heart thrumming wildly.

"Come in. It's open!"

Katniss takes a breath and turns the knob, pushing the door open a crack. Peeta is hunched over his desk, a pair of reading glasses perched low on the bridge of his nose. Her lips tug into a wry smile at the sight; she's never seen him wear them before, and if it's at all possible they only make him more attractive. He glances up and spies her in the doorway and his blue eyes light up.

"Why are you waiting out there? I said you could come in." He pulls the glasses off and sets them down on the desk as he focuses his gaze on her again.

"I've never seen you in glasses before," she says as she closes the door behind her. He laughs.

"I only wear them when I'm doing the books," he confesses.

"They probably have software for that." She chews on her lip, shuffling on the balls of her feet.

"We have the software. I usually load the numbers into it after the fact. There's just something to be said for doing the math by hand. It's how my dad always did it at the deli, and he made out just fine. But Finn and I have discussed hiring someone to do the accounting for us with how well everything is going. And I've been thinking a lot about getting back in the kitchen."

Peeta's handsome face alters when she remains quiet. He rises from his chair and comes around from behind his desk. Leaning against it, he places his hands on either side of his hips, bracing his weight on the desktop. "Katniss, what's wrong?" She presses her lips together and slowly moves towards him, extending a hand to show him the papers. His bright blue eyes shift back and forth, his blond brows knitting in confusion, his mouth moving wordlessly as he reads. "What is this?"

She feels her lower lip tremble and bites down again to still it. "I think it means your wife is suing me for ruining your marriage."

His eyes go round and he stands up. "What the fuck? That can't be. We didn't…" He trails off and glances down at the papers again. "How the hell did she do this? She's fucking crazy. Let me call Plutarch. He'll get this straightened out."

She listens patiently as Peeta speaks with his lawyer, though her pulse continues its frantic staccato through her veins and the tiny muscle below her right eye that sometimes twitches when she's nervous hasn't stopped ticking since Peeta picked up the phone. It seems like he talks to Plutarch forever, but the conversation really only lasts a few minutes. Peeta remains quiet, but his agitation is evident on his face. "Okay. She's right here. I'm going to put you on speaker phone, alright?" He nods to Katniss and presses the button on the phone. "Plutarch, go ahead."

A thick Southern drawl fills the room. "Hi there, Katniss."

"Hi, sir."

"Call me Plutarch, darling. 'Sir' makes me feel like a buttoned-up old fogie. Listen, you've got nothing to worry about. I'll take care of getting this horseshit lawsuit thrown out if you'll let me represent you."

"Plutarch and his partner are the best, Katniss," Peeta assures her.

"Okay," she agrees. "What do I need to do?"

Plutarch informs Katniss that it would be best if she came by his office and they discussed a few things in person. Peeta quickly offers to escort her tomorrow, and Plutarch booms that he'll see them at nine a.m. Satisfied for the time being, Peeta thanks the lawyer and replaces the receiver on the phone. He walks towards her and reaches out, placing his hands on her upper arms, rubbing them reassuringly.

"Everything is going to be okay," he begins. "You heard Plutarch. Glimmer doesn't have a case, Katniss. These kinds of tort lawsuits are nearly impossible to prove even if there is adultery between one spouse and the third party." He tries to paraphrase the lawyer's words the best he can as he explains alienation of affection torts are rarely successful, as the spouse who is suing must prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that the marriage would never have ended if not for the third party. Plutarch said there were far too many mitigating circumstances in his case to pin anything solely on Katniss's shoulders. In spite of this, Katniss can't quell the nausea cresting in her stomach.

"I don't trust her. She said she'd get revenge on me. You heard her the other day."

He nods. "I just don't understand how she got you served so quickly. She had to have gone right to a lawyer after she left here Thursday morning. I mean, shit, Plutarch is very efficient and it took him a few days to draw up my papers before I could file. And the courts are closed on weekends."

She watches him grow more agitated, and her stomach pitches again. "I'm sorry," she murmurs sadly.

"For what?" he whispers, training his eyes on her. Her pulse resumes its accelerated pace at the imperceptible darkening she suddenly sees in the vibrant blue irises. She looks away quickly before her resolve shatters and she kisses him like she did the other night—but today, she won't have Cato as a convenient excuse for getting caught up in the moment.

He takes his index finger and angles her chin back to meet his eyes again, and she gets flustered. "For…?" But she can't find the words. He shakes his head at her. "See? You don't even know what to be sorry for. We did nothing wrong. It's not your fault my marriage failed."

"But all this happened after we met up in the diner!" The queasiness in her gut yields to an odd miasma of desire and guilt; he's still close enough that she can smell the earthy notes of his cologne and her stomach flips in spite of herself. "It's all because of the lottery, is it not? Won't she use that as her main claim?"

"Katniss, stop. I've been unhappy with her for a really long time, and yeah, maybe it wouldn't have happened at this exact point in time but it would have happened eventually, I swear. And it _should_ have happened awhile ago."

"So it _is_ my fault!"

"No, it's not," he spits emphatically. "The lottery thing was incidental. It's no one's fault but Glimmer's, and if this bullshit lawsuit even gets that far, I'll testify that we were through way before that morning." He throws his hands up in exasperation. "Was it your fault she stopped letting me touch her? Was it your fault that she decided she didn't want kids? Was it your fault we couldn't have a civil conversation anymore? No. You had nothing to do with these things. I tried to make her happy. I tried, Katniss. I tried so hard."

"But it's gotten worse since you left me that tip, has it not? I mean, can you deny it, Peeta? What if her suing me is only the start? What if she goes after you? After this I couldn't live with myself if you suffered because of me, not after all you've done for me."

"Plutarch and Paylor are damn good lawyers. They'll insure that my assets are protected. I promise you she won't hurt me, Katniss."

"Maybe this is all a bad idea." She gestures around her wildly. "Maybe I shouldn't be working with you and spending time with you and thinking about you—

His mouth attacks hers, silencing her, and his arms tighten around her and she can't think. The room tilts and spins and her knees buckle as his lips continue their pleasurable assault. His tongue flicks at the seam of her lips and she parts them. His mouth is warm and wet and tastes of his morning coffee when he sucks eagerly on her bottom lip. The kiss is even more urgent than the one she initiated outside her building last Thursday night. She allows his tongue to plunder her mouth, licking and swirling at her own tongue, emboldening it to join his.

She claws her hands through his short curls as he backs her into the desk and leans into her. The way his body covers hers she can feel his hardness pressing against her thigh when he wedges one leg between hers. She closes her eyes as his lips descend on her neck. Leaving one hand winding encouragingly through his hair, she boldly plants the other on his ass and brings him even closer to her. He growls against her skin and her limbs turn to jelly when one of his hands palms her breast through her shirt.

His fingers then wander to the buttons on her shirt and fumble to start undoing them. She meets his hand with hers, bowing her back, her abdominal muscles tensing as she braces her body against the desk and she helps him to free the top two buttons from their holes. The heat of his breath ghosts over the swells of her breasts, and she shivers with delight, wetness pooling between her thighs.

She yanks on his tie, her fingers prying at the knot, desperate to loosen it as his tongue laps at the hollow of her throat. "Peeta," she whimpers, his name escaping her lips, but as it does, it breaks his concentration and he jerks away.

"Fuck, I'm sorry!" He turns his back to her, raking a hand through his disheveled curls. "I don't know what I was thinking."

Her shoulders slump as she pants, trying to regain her breathing, breasts heaving as she watches him pace agitatedly around the office. "Don't be sorry," she murmurs, making no move to refasten her shirt.

"No, I had no right to kiss you like that," he apologizes. "I…shit. It's getting harder and harder to control myself around you." He scrubs his face with his palms as she remains frozen, perched on the edge of the desk, her body strung taut from his confession that he wants her as badly as she wants him. And fuck, does she want him. She's tired of waiting.

"Glimmer is an idiot," she starts slowly, "if she could not want that—with you—all the time."

He finally meets her eyes, and she trembles when she sees the predatory glaze to them. He starts advancing upon her again when the office phone trills. Reaching behind her, she answers it with the usual greeting. She feels his gaze on her partially exposed chest and watches him adjust the prominent bulge in his pants.

The voice on the other end is clipped. "I'm looking for Peeta Mellark or Katniss Everdeen."

Peeta raises an eyebrow at her when she replies, "This is Katniss Everdeen."

"Katniss, this is Portia Ruiz from _The Caesar Flickerman Show_. We spoke last Monday about you appearing on Mr. Flickerman's program?"

She exhales and meets Peeta's eyes. "Yeah, hi, Ms. Ruiz. I remember."

"I hope you and Mr. Mellark have considered our offer and changed your minds about allowing Mr. Flickerman to interview you."

"Oh." She pauses. "Actually, Ms. Ruiz, could you hold for one second?" She presses the hold button and places the receiver down on the desk. "It's the Caesar show. We really didn't talk about this, did we?"

Peeta gives her a wry smile. "I guess we've had a lot on our minds. What do you say?"

"I'm not sure. After what just happened, I'm having a hard time thinking clearly." And between the lawsuit and the kiss, she's not exaggerating. Peeta crosses the room and stops before her; his eyes dart briefly to her breasts, and she blushes and finally hastily rebuttons her shirt.

"I think we should do it. On our terms."

"Really?"

He nods. "Yes. Especially now, given the circumstances since last Monday. I want the chance to explain things in my words."

"Okay," she agrees. "Ms. Ruiz? We'll do the show."

"Wonderful!" the producer trills. "Now about the arrangements—"

"Put her on speaker phone," Peeta murmurs in her ear, and the puff of air that escapes his lips tickles her neck. She feels the dulled buzz of desire reawakening and shifts to put some space between them.

"Ms. Ruiz, I have Mr. Mellark right here. I can put you on speaker phone."

"Wonderful! Hello, Mr. Mellark," she adds as the speaker button clicks and her voice fills the room.

"Hi, Ms. Ruiz."

"Now, as I was about to say. Normally our guests come to us and we interview in our studios, but Mr. Flickerman thinks it might be fun to interview you in your little town and film a few of the sites of your story. You know, the diner…the store where you bought the ticket…your restaurant, Mr. Mellark."

Katniss wrinkles her nose at the thought of having to go inside Cray's. But she supposes it's more desirable than flying to the New York City and dealing with all the logistics that would bring.

"That sounds fine," Peeta replies, glancing to Katniss for affirmation. She sighs and nods her head once.

"Wonderful!" Katniss rolls her eyes. Someone needs to get the woman a thesaurus. "Mr. Flickerman will be in Panem on the fourth of May and we will likely do the interview that day, perhaps at your restaurant, if that can be arranged, Mr. Mellark?" She prattles on about filming permits and waivers, and Katniss figures Cray will jump at the chance to have his greasy little establishment broadcast to the nation. She gives Ms. Ruiz the information to contact her old boss, and after a few more trivial details, Peeta coughs and speaks up.

"What about Glimmer?" he asks. There is silence on the other end of the phone.

"Well, Mr. Mellark, your wife contacted us just the other day. Caesar does want to talk to all three of you—" The woman vacillates before finishing. "But well, your wife actually asked to be interviewed separately from you."

* * *

_**A/N-**Many thanks to fenderfreak81 for her expertise in explaining tort lawsuits to me and how 'alienation of affection' suits really work and to jeeno2 for the legal pre-advice she gifted me with before I even began this story!. A kind reminder this takes place in the fictional state of Panem, so any liberties taken with laws, etc. are all my own creative decisions. I'm trying to balance the reality of the situation without bogging you down with the details!_

_Thank you to all the readers who continue to support this story with your kind reviews, your follows and your favorites. I'm happy you're all enjoying it so much. _

_And to ILoveRynMar and streetlightlove, thank you for your friendship and your guidance. _

_Thanks for reading. _


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N: **Thank you for your lovely reviews to Chapter 11 and the follows and favorites. I think I missed responding to a few, so if I did, I apologize. Thanks also to the several guest reviewers who continue to support this story and I can't personally thank. I appreciate **all** your feedback so much!_

_Many thanks to jeeno2 for her general legal expertise and to fenderfreak81 for his long dissertation on divorce laws and mediation that is the backbone of the next few chapters. I am so grateful for their generous advice, as my own knowledge stems from Law and Order reruns and John Grisham novels, haha._

_And as always, ILoveRynMar and __streetlightlove...thanks for reading, advising and just being you. _

_Happy 4th of July to all the American readers out there. _

* * *

**Chapter 12-Tuesday, April 28****th **_**cont.**_

_**(Peeta)**_

"She's up to something." He paces in front of the desk, periodically sliding his eyes at Katniss, who hasn't moved since hanging up the phone.

"It's my fault. She probably doesn't want to be in the same room as me."

"Would you stop it?" he says harshly. "Stop blaming yourself, Katniss. Enough."

Her eyes flash with something akin to shame, and she stands, adjusting her skirt and checking the buttons on her shirt again. "I'll get back to the front now." She avoids his gaze and moves past him. He didn't mean to yell at her, and he feels awful being the cause of the wounded look on her face so he reaches out impulsively and grabs her upper arm gingerly, but with just enough force to cause her to freeze.

"I'm serious," he says, his tone softer, and her eyes wander to where he grips her arm so he releases her quickly. "I don't want to hear you blaming anyone but her from now on. She did this, not you." He shoves one hand in his pocket and scratches absently at his chin with the other. "But I'm sorry again…for kissing you."

She opens the door and pauses. "I'm not." She licks her lips and brushes at the bottom one with her thumb idly as she walks away.

He heaves a sigh and turns his back to the door so that he can readjust his pants again, the pain finally alleviating as his hard-on shrinks. Fuck. It will be hours before he can seek a release, and even that will pale in comparison to how he imagines it would have felt to bury himself in Katniss just now.

It was the right thing to stop, but as he told her, it's getting more and more difficult to stay restrained around her. He doesn't really trust himself to be alone with her…and yet, that's all he thinks about. And hearing her say that she wants him too…he's not sure how much longer he can keep torturing himself. They're both consenting adults, and his marriage is effectively over. He's desperate for the court-mandated mediation—the divorce still won't be final at that point, but in his mind, it's the last potential hurdle to being with Katniss guilt-free.

But right now he needs to deal with Glimmer. His ire at his soon-to-be-ex wife has reached new limits with her preposterous lawsuit against Katniss. It's low—even for Glimmer. He picks up his cell phone and paces as he waits for her to answer and his pulse quickens when it goes to voicemail. Uttering a quiet curse, he listens to her annoyingly cloying voice —the same one she uses when she's trying to impress people—announce she's not available and to leave a message.

"Glimmer. Call me when you get this." His tone is sharp and the message is blunt, but he's far past caring about her hurt feelings. She forfeited any right to his sympathy a long time ago. He disconnects and shoves his phone back in his pants pocket, stalking out of his office to get back to work.

But he doesn't get very far. He stops short at the sight of Glimmer and Clove at a small table near the middle of the dining room. They are talking and laughing and Clove is sipping some kind of a martini. Glimmer sporadically scans the room, clearly on the offensive, looking for him, and the smug look on her face when she locks eyes with him curdles his blood. She could have gone anywhere for lunch, chosen any restaurant—but here she is. And much like the incident with his mother last Friday, it can't be a coincidence.

But he's not going to play her game. Smiling politely, he visits a few tables that appear to be finishing their meals and asks how their experience was. One old woman tells him there was too much lemon in her iced tea and her tuna steak was dry, but most are effusive in their praise. He's careful to avoid where Glimmer and Clove sit, but he feels their eyes shadowing him.

He's lingering near the front of the dining room when Katniss breezes past him, leading a party of four businessmen to a table near Glimmer's. She gets them settled and turns to walk away when Peeta sees Glimmer nudge her oversized Michael Kors purse directly into Katniss's path. He's dumbfounded at the blonde's childish antics, but when Katniss deftly steps around the handbag, he can't contain the smirk that forms on his lips.

"When did she get here?" he asks her, placing a hand on her wrist to stop her as she begins walking past him.

"Oh, she and her friend were already seated when I left your office. Aisleyne sat them. I didn't have to say a word to her."

"She never eats here. She's obviously trying to see your reaction to the papers," he whispers, and she nods, chancing a look back at the two women.

"Oh, I know," she replies. "They glare at me every time I come in here. But I just keep smiling. Look." She flashes him a dazzling smile. "My cheeks are actually starting to hurt." She darts another glance past him and keeps the grin plastered on her face. Peeta turns and sees Glimmer seething from her seat as she throws her napkin to the table and pushes back her chair. Katniss seems to sense a confrontation brewing. "I'd better get back."

"You enjoy flaunting your little slut in front of me?" Glimmer hisses as she approaches him and Katniss rounds the corner. He rolls his eyes.

"You tell me, Glim, because you're the one who chose to dine here when you knew Katniss would be working. Why else might you be here?" He feigns puzzlement and her eyes narrow. "Oh, wait. Might it have something to do with the papers Katniss received this morning?"

Glimmer sticks her nose in the air as she turns and struts back to her table. He follows. "I figured I'd return the favor," she sneers.

"That's bullshit and you know it. I'm not sure what kind of a lawyer you retained that thought it was a good idea for you to file such a stupid lawsuit, but Plutarch assured us it's going to get thrown out."

She crosses her arms and flashes him another haughty smile while she takes her seat across from Clove. "We'll see about that." She refolds her napkin and places it back in her lap, smoothing it with her hand.

"Did your lawyer also tell you to demand to be interviewed separately for _The Caesar Flickerman Show?"_

"Actually that was my idea," Clove pipes up, narrowing her brown eyes at Peeta. "I think it's only fair that Glimmer gets to tell her side of the story without you and your mistress butting in every two seconds."

He ignores her erroneous reference to Katniss, not wanting to engage the bristly brunette in a war of words. "You're one to talk, Clove. You've enjoy nothing more than butting into my marriage. But it's nice that Glimmer has such a good friend to hold her hand through all this." He gives them a facetious smile. "Enjoy your lunch, ladies."

Fortunately, he never sees them leave—and that's largely because he spends the better part of the next hour loitering in the back of the restaurant with only an occasional visit to the floor. He and Thom complete the week's orders and after that he finally immerses himself in the books he had been working on earlier that morning.

A quick glance at the clock surprises him; he's been so immersed in his work that it's nearly five, and Katniss will be leaving soon. He removes his glasses and places the book on Finnick's desk so that he can start entering the information tomorrow morning.

To his dismay, Katniss has already gone home when he saunters to the front of the restaurant. He's slightly insulted that she didn't say goodbye when she gathered her things and left, but Lavinia mentions something Katniss said about working at her uncle's and that she had seemed in a hurry to go.

When he leaves his restaurant an hour later, he decides that he might be in the mood for a burger and a beer.

* * *

Abernathy's is considerably busy for a Tuesday evening, but when Peeta steps inside and looks around, he doesn't spot Katniss behind the bar and wonders if she could be in the back changing a tap or something. Settling on a stool and reaching for a menu, he hears a gravelly voice announce, "She's not here." He glances up and sees Katniss's uncle staring at him. Haymitch leans back against the register and gives him a smirk. "I assume you're not just here for my haute cuisine, Blondie."

"I…uh…" He tries to find a logical response to justify his appearance, but the expression on Haymitch's face says it all—he knows damn well why Peeta is there. "I thought she was working tonight," he supplies lamely, laying the menu down.

"Get you a beer?" Haymitch asks. "Or something stronger?" He raises his arm and Peeta sees a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. "Macallan. Private reserve."

"I'll stick with beer, thanks. I've got to drive back to the hotel," he answers, watching Haymitch set down his scotch and fill a frosted pint glass with the IPA Peeta favored the last time he visited Abernathy's. "Good memory." He accepts the glass and takes a long sip of the foamy, cold beer.

"It's good business to know your customers whether they're in every night or just once in a while." He sips at his scotch and scrutinizes Peeta.

"So Katniss isn't here, huh?"

"Oh, she was supposed to be. But Vick showed up instead and said he'd switched with her." He throws back the rest of the alcohol in the tumbler and refills it, swirling it contemplatively. "But I know my niece. She'd show up for work if she were on death's door. So I knew something was wrong."

Peeta considers the morning's chain of events and he nods in affirmation. "She had a rough morning."

"Getting blindsided with a horseshit lawsuit from your boss's wife will do that."

He falls quiet for a moment and gazes down into the head of his beer. "She told you about that."

"She doesn't keep many secrets from me. But I had to really pry this one out of her." He levels Peeta with a severe look. "Katniss doesn't open up to many people. If she's spending time with you and freely talking to you, you can be sure she's got feelings for you. And not much rattles her. She's always been real good at taking care of herself. But whatever went down this morning musta did a number on her."

Peeta feels a stab of anguish at the notion that Katniss is so distraught—he thought he had successfully reassured her that everything would be okay. "She, uh, seemed fine at work." Haymitch guffaws and swirls his tumbler again, appraising the liquor.

"Katniss is also real good at making people think she's okay when she's hurting on the inside. She's been doing it for years."

"I hate that she's hurting," he says, staring down at his beer again.

"So do I. So let's get something straight, Blondie. You hurt my niece, I'll fucking break your legs."

"Mr. Abernathy—"

"I know what you're gonna say, so save your breath. I know you didn't mean to do it, but she's upset nonetheless. She's caught in the crossfire of this war you're waging with your wife." He sets down his scotch and leans on the bar, his steely eyes boring into Peeta's. "I'll tell you something else. I can count on one hand the number of guys Katniss has dated, and I've never seen her like she is around you. So watch yourself. Don't go starting something you're not willing to finish. It will fucking crush her."

He swallows and reaches for his beer, downing the rest of the pint in one gulp then wipes his mouth hastily and reaches for his wallet, throwing down a ten-dollar bill on the bar. "I care about your niece, Mr. Abernathy."

"Haymitch," he scoffs.

"Haymitch," Peeta repeats. "I care about her a lot. And I'll do everything in my power never to hurt her. I promise you that. Your niece can tell you all about me and my promises."

Haymitch retreats, straightening up, though he keeps his stony gaze fixed on Peeta. "You're seem like a good guy, Blondie. You were always a good kid. But don't think I never saw the way you looked at Katniss when you two were teenagers. I wish you had had the balls back then to show her the attention you're showering her with now. Things mighta been different."

He sighs and rubs at his temples, closing his eyes momentarily. "They can be different now. Life doesn't give you a whole lot of second chances," he begins, sliding off the stool and showing his wallet back in his jeans. "I don't intend to let this one pass me by. It's only a matter of time."

"She's been waiting long enough for Mr. Right," Haymitch calls after him. "So don't you fucking keep her waiting too long."

Her uncle's words of advice—or his threat, whichever he intended them to be—echoing in his ears, Peeta exits the bar, unlocks his car, starts the engine and drives straight for Katniss's place. He has a profound need to see her—to reassure her one more time that everything will be fine; he can't let the rest of the evening pass if he knows she's hurting because of him.

He finds a parking spot a few blocks away from her building and walks briskly back towards her apartment, presses the button to the intercom and waits for a response. Her voice comes through the garbled speaker hesitantly. "Yes?"

"Katniss, it's me. Peeta." She doesn't reply, but the door clicks and he slips into the vestibule and realizes he has no idea what floor she's on or what her apartment number is. He scans the tiny row of mailboxes and searches for her name. A few minutes later, he locates the neatly lettered 'K. EVERDEEN' beside Apartment 12D just as a door creaks and a soft cough commands his attention.

"12D," she says, leaning against the doorframe and giving him a slight smile.

"Yeah, I found it," he replies drolly, laughing.

"What are you doing here?"

He swallows and tries to keep his eyes on her face when he notices that she's wearing a tiny camisole and a pair of worn plaid boxer shorts. Her loose hair blows lightly as a result of her position directly under the cooling vent, and he can see her puckered nipples through the flimsy material of the little top. "I, uh, went to visit you at Abernathy's and grab some dinner. Your uncle said you had Vick take your shift."

"Oh, yeah." She crosses her arms, but she positions them below her breasts so that they are still displayed to him. "I had a really bad headache come on just as I was leaving Thirteen-12, and I just wanted to lie down and nap."

"Katniss," he begins gently. "Haymitch told me you were upset when he talked to you. He didn't say anything about you not feeling well or having a headache." She presses her lips into a thin line but remains quiet. He steps towards her and she sucks in a breath as he places his hands on her bare arms and rubs them up and down, attempting to keep the gesture comforting and not allow it to venture into sexual territory, which is a challenge with her nipples still so prominently visible, straining against the thin fabric. It gets more challenging when she draws her lower lip between her teeth and worries it—he wants to be the one nibbling on those lips. "He also said you never miss work for any reason."

"Peeta, I…" She blows out an exaggerated breath. "Why are you here?" she asks again.

"I just needed to see you and promise you that this whole fucking mess with Glimmer isn't going to materialize any further. We'll go see Plutarch tomorrow and it will get dealt with swiftly. Okay?" She shrugs and looks uncomfortable. He sighs. "Do I keep my promises?" She nods and he uses his index finger to lift her chin, forcing her to look directly into his eyes. "Say it," he whispers.

"You keep your promises," she murmurs.

"And this is no exception," he assures her.

The air between them is electric, and he can practically feel the heat radiating off her skin as she moistens her lips and keeps her eyes locked on his. "Did you…ah…did you want to come upstairs? I think I owe you a coffee."

"Katniss," he warns, closing his eyes to break the intense gaze they are sharing. "I think you know as well as I do if I come upstairs there is a better than good chance that we will do a lot more than drink coffee."

"I have coffee, Peeta," she emphasizes, "Unless you prefer tea. And I'd have to check if I have that."

"Actually while I'll drink coffee, I do prefer tea. Green. Or Chai. Or Black." He laughs. "As you can see I'm very particular."

"I don't mind 'particular.'"

"As tempting as it sounds, I shouldn't."

"No? Why not?"

"I don't trust myself alone with you right now."

"You're going to give me a complex, constantly turning me down, you know," she says, and while he can hear that she tries to keep the tone playful, there is a grain of honesty behind her words. His heart beats a syncopated rhythm as he impetuously reaches around her neck to draw her closer and lowers his mouth to hers, brushing her lips ever so gently.

"I'll make you another promise, Katniss," he whispers. "You won't have to wait for me much longer." Her eyes flutter open, and her pupils are black pools of desire.

"I'm going to be holding you to that one," she breathes, touching her fingertips to her lips.

"Good. I'm counting on it." He gives her a smile and turns for the door. "Hey, I'd be happy to pick you up tomorrow and we could go to Plutarch's together, if you'd like."

She twists her lips into a smirk. "I don't know, Peeta. Wouldn't we be alone together in your car?"

"Touché," he laughs. "About eight-forty-five, okay? It's not far to Plutarch's office from here."

"Sounds great," she replies. He reaches for the doorknob and steps out onto the stoop, turning to say goodbye when she smirks again. "Oh and Peeta?"

"Yeah?"

She crosses the tiny vestibule and rises up on her toes, her mouth flush with his ear. "I may be going upstairs alone, but you know there are some things a girl might do to herself when she's all alone. And I might just be thinking about you tonight when I do them." She flashes him a devilish smile, her brazenness catching him completely off-guard in spite of the light flirting they've engaged in just now. Wiggling her fingers at him, she leaves him standing on her apartment steps with the tantalizing vision of her hands on her breasts and her fingers between her legs—and his own erection straining against his jeans. _ Fuck me—_he can't get back to his hotel fast enough.

* * *

Katniss is seated on the stoop the next morning when he idles in front of her building and she rises, striding towards his car and he lurches across the console, stretching for the door handle so he can still open the door for her. She gives him a coy smile as she settles inside, adjusting the seatbelt as he veers back into traffic. "Always the gentleman," she muses, lowering her sunglasses from their perch atop her head to rest on the bridge of her nose. His eyes are drawn to the rosy sheen of her mouth, glistening with the dewy luster of her lip-gloss.

Her eyes flit down to the console, and he smiles at her when she notices the two cups, steaming piping from their lids. "I took the liberty to bring you coffee. A latte actually. Vanilla. I wasn't sure how you take your coffee so that seemed like a safe compromise." She raises an eyebrow at him, a pleased smile crinkling her eyes as she inhales deeply before taking a slow sip.

"So good," she appraises. "Thank you."

"So, how did you sleep last night?" He meets her eyes when he brakes at a stoplight, and a lovely shade of pink blooms on her cheeks.

"Oh, just fine, thanks," she demurs, taking another quick sip of her latte and glancing away. He grins and decides against teasing her, though he's aching for confirmation that she really did touch herself to thoughts of him. He had barely closed the door to his hotel room before his jeans and boxers were on the floor and his hand had wrapped around his cock as he jerked off to his own fantasies of her.

As Peeta suspected, once they settle in Plutarch's office, politely declining Cecilia's offer for coffee or tea, it doesn't take long for the three of them to sort through the alienation of affection suit and get things in order for Plutarch to prepare a motion to be filed to have the case dismissed. He explains that Glimmer will likely have the right to argue against the dismissal, but he can't fathom her lawyer will advise her to do that.

"It's pretty cut and dry, Katniss," Plutarch drawls, a warm smile on his creased face as he tents his fingers. "I have yet to see one of these torts successfully argued. Hell, some states don't even allow them to be filed anymore. Most cases it's nothing more than a vengeful ex who is simply wasting the court's time."

"I told you," Peeta smiles, reaching over and giving her hand a gentle squeeze. He lets his palm linger on hers, and she rotates her wrist, her fingers mapping the plane of the back of his hand.

Plutarch coughs and shuffles some papers on his desk. "You two have something you want to share with me?"

They exchange a glance and Peeta pulls back his hand, giving the lawyer a guilty smile. "No, Plutarch. Not yet anyhow." Katniss bites her lip and looks away.

Plutarch leans back in his desk chair, tapping his fingertips against each other in contemplation. "I guess it's a good thing then that I got your mediation with Glimmer fast tracked and you have a session scheduled for next Thursday at 10 am."

"Are you kidding?"

Plutarch shakes his head, a broad grin on his face. "Nope. You'll need to be sure you can make it because there's no rescheduling with this mediator. He's one of the best, and it took a lot of string-pulling to get a hearing with him so quickly."

Peeta wrings his hands in his lap, his palms becoming sweaty as a wave of hopefulness washes over him. "I…thank you, Plutarch. That's great news. I can arrange to be available then, yes. " He cuts his eyes to Katniss. She intently studies her thumbnail, but he can tell she is still hiding a smile.

"It's not really customary for the attorneys to sit in on mediation hearings," Plutarch continues. "So unless Glimmer insists on her lawyer being there, and then I'll join you, you two will just speak with him alone." He continues explaining where the mediator's office is and how the hearing will likely proceed, and Peeta repeatedly shifts his eyes to Katniss as Plutarch talks. He's surprised to find her listening attentively to the attorney's elucidations.

Plutarch has just started to give them both a few warnings about their impending interview with Caesar Flickerman when Peeta's cell phone trills obnoxiously, and a peek at the screen reveals his eldest brother's face and name. Plutarch motions for Peeta to take the call and as he does, a frantic Grant starts rambling.

"Peet? Thank God. Mom's not answering her cell, and the fucking nanny has the flu. Listen, can you come watch the boys for a couple of hours? Charys says she's spotting and fuck, man, she sounds like she's in a lot of pain and I'm on my way home to get her to the hospital ASAP."

Peeta's stomach instinctively twists at the raw panic in his brother's voice. "Yeah, of course, Grant. But I'm at Plutarch's right now. Wouldn't it be faster for you if you just put the boys in the car and I meet you at the E.R? Won't that save time?" The complex that houses Plutarch's office is only a few blocks from the hospital.

"I don't know, Peet. Shit. They need so much crap…the baby's diaper bag...and he needs to be fed…and you don't have car seats or anything…"

"Okay, okay," he agrees. He hadn't considered that yeah, kids do not travel light and his car is certainly not equipped for two children and a baby. "We'll leave right away." He turns to Plutarch and Katniss, who watches him with concern in her grey eyes. "It's my sister-in-law. She's, uh, bleeding, I guess, and Grant's worried about the baby and they need to go to the emergency room." He sighs. "Plutarch, can we—"

Plutarch offers a sympathetic smile. "We're pretty right done here, kiddo. Go. Take care of your nephews. I'll get this filed for Katniss, and I'll be in touch with you again before your mediation. And I meant what I said about that interview. Be careful what you reveal."

They both thank Plutarch and as they exit his office and make their way down to Peeta's car, it dawns on him that he needs to take her home or she's stranded. "I can get a cab, Peeta," she says, placing a hand on his forearm reassuringly as if she can read his thoughts. "It's not a big deal. Please don't think twice about me. Your brother needs you. Go."

He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Katniss. I didn't know…" He pauses, a spontaneous idea taking shape in his mind. "Come with me." She blinks twice and then her eyes go round. "I mean if you don't have anything else to do, you could come with me to my brother's house." He's mentally preparing all the ways he could make it sound attractive to spend the afternoon with him and his two rambunctious nephews and a colicky baby so at first, he doesn't hear her reply. "What?" She gives him an amused smile and tilts her head at him expectantly.

"I said you're wasting time standing here. Let's go." She tosses her braid over her shoulder and jiggles the door handle, prompting him to unlock the vehicle. His fingers close over hers, her face twisting with surprise when he insists on opening the door for her.

"Are you going to actually sing for me this time?" she teases as he starts the engine and the blare of the radio fills the car. She raises an eyebrow at him at the volume level as he flicks the little button on the steering wheel to lower it.

"I, ah, like to listen to some things loud," he admits, and her laughter peals above the music.

She grins. "I can cosign to that. Provided it's quality music," she adds with a wink. As he drives, her lips begin to move and though at first he thinks she's only mouthing the words, he hears the clear notes of her voice singing along. His mouth tugs into a smile, and with her serenading him to the strains of the Stones' _Wild Horses _he navigates the short distance to Grant's gated community of McMansions and manicured lawns and tennis courts.

Peeta pulls into his brother's driveway and parks behind Carys's Acura MDX. His sister-in-law stands beside Grant's idling Benz, her hand cradling the small swell of her abdomen, her face contorted in pain. She wheezes out a hello to Peeta and calls to her husband, "Grant, he's here!"

"Carys, this is…" He pauses, uncertain of the best way to introduce Katniss. But Carys's dark eyes lift with understanding and she grits her teeth as she nods.

"The girl from the lottery, I know." She gives Katniss a tight smile. "Hi."

"Katniss," she replies, "it's nice to meet you."

"Grant, get the fuck out here!" Carys yells, and Peeta sees Katniss flinch and edge towards him. His sister in-law's abrasiveness can be jarring, even to him after years of knowing her.

"I hope everything's okay, Care," Peeta says hurriedly and ushers Katniss past a grimacing Carys through the front door, guiding her with a hand on the small of her back. "Grant? We're here."

Sharp wails punctuate the air, and Grant appears in the threshold of the kitchen, clad in his three-piece suit, rocking the baby furiously. "Hey, Peet. Thanks for coming so quickly." His face registers slight shock at seeing Katniss.

"Grant, I don't know if you remember Katniss Everdeen." Peeta gestures to her and she gives Grant a hesitant smile.

"Hey, yeah, it's good to see you again." He thrusts the baby into Peeta's arms and gesticulates wildly to the staircase. "The other two are in their rooms. Time Out."

He doesn't elaborate and grabs his key fob from the hall table, looking around frantically.

"She's waiting for you outside," Peeta replies, shifting his nephew into a more comfortable position for the baby. "The boys ate breakfast, right?"

"Ah, I'm not sure," Grant answers, reaching for the door. "The baby's bottle is in the warmer. Trystyn and Bryndyn can eat whatever for lunch in a bit. Thanks again, Peet." And then the door slams behind him, and they hear the car purr and tires squeal as Grant tears off up the residential street.

"Your brother's house is really nice," Katniss adnires, glancing around the center hall. Sunlight streams in through the massive half-crescent window above the front door, and the polished tile floor gleams brightly. "How does your sister-in-law keep it so neat with three kids?"

Peeta rocks the baby a few times as he looks over at Katniss. "Oh she doesn't. They have a cleaning lady. And the boys aren't allowed to play anywhere but their playroom in the finished basement." Her eyes lower to the fussing infant, awe visible in the grey irises as the baby's cries progressively cease with Peeta's gentle swaying.

"How did you do that?" she asks, her eyes lifting to meet Peeta's. He shrugs modestly and smiles down at his nephew.

"Magic, I guess. Let's go see if your bottle is ready, Mr. D." He motions for Katniss to follow him. Her eyes expand again as her gaze sweeps over the immaculate, spacious kitchen, but she says nothing.

"Did you want to feed him?" he asks softly as he takes the bottle from the warmer and tests the temperature on the inside of his wrist. She shakes her head emphatically and he chuckles. "Why not?"

"I've never fed a baby before," she confesses, chewing on her lower lip as she glances up at the loud thumps coming from the ceiling. The copper pans hanging above the kitchen island counter swing and clatter with each punctuated bang. Peeta rolls his eyes at the noise.

"My nephews are rowdy, if anything. I'm sure there's got to be a really good reason they're both even in Time Out since my brother and his wife are not big on discipline."

"I can go check on them if you want," she offers. Peeta shakes his head and walks into the large living room that is adjacent to the kitchen, urging her to follow him again.

"They'll be fine for a few more minutes. Sit down," he orders, bouncing the baby lightly when Devyn starts fussing again. She hesitates but crosses the room and obediently perches on the edge of the couch, looking up at him uneasily. "Hold out your arms."

"Peeta, no," she protests. He ignores the objection and leans down to carefully transfer the baby to her, kneeling down in front of where she sits. Devyn issues a keening wail that causes Katniss to jump. "I'm already making him cry!"

"Katniss, no, it's okay. He's just hungry. Here." He hands her the bottle and grabs the big pillow from the other end of the couch. "Lift him up." When she gingerly raises Devyn off her lap, he wedges it under the baby's body, showing Katniss how to balance his head against the curve of the pillow to take the strain off her arm.

"It'll get tired the longer he eats," he explains. "And he's a solid little guy—he gets heavy." He hands her the bottle, which she positions at Devyn's open mouth and her face breaks into a relieved smile when the baby's lips surround the bottle's nipple and he sucks contentedly.

"And this is all I need to do?" she whispers, her gaze never leaving the greedy baby.

"Yep, that's all. He'll do the rest. When he finishes, he'll need to be burped."

"How do I do that?"

He grins. "I'll show you when it's time. But I'm going to go check on the demons upstairs. I'm kinda shocked they haven't snuck down here yet. Be right back."

"Okay," she murmurs, still not glancing up at him.

He wants to linger in the doorway and observe her as she feeds Devyn, but the thumps have ceased and with Trystyn and Bryndyn, eerie silence is a more ominous sign than raucous shouts. Reluctantly turning to mount the stairs, he takes them two at a time and pauses in the doorway of Trystyn's room and his jaw drops at the sight of both his nephews, hands poised over the creamy white wall, colorful handprints speckling their makeshift canvas.

"Uncle Peeta, look! We're using the paint you bought us!" Trystyn calls gleefully.

"Mine green! Mine green!" Bryndyn adds, his chubby toddler fingers wriggling at Peeta, the pads and his palms an unmistakable green hue.

He heaves a sigh and gives the boys a rueful smile. Fortunately the finger paints are water-based; Peeta knows his nephews' proclivity—even at their young ages—for destruction all too well. It will take a little bit of effort but it should come off the walls too (and it does, two hours later). "Good job, but you're supposed to use that paint on paper, buddy," he chides as he wraps his arms around Bryndyn's waist and hauls him to the bathroom, Trystyn trailing behind. He sets the littler boy down in front of the sink and turns on the faucet, pumping hand soap into both children's hands. "Wash," he commands, leaning against the doorframe to supervise. The water in the basin of the sink swirls into a muddy mingling of colors as they scrub at their hands, and he lifts Bryndyn up to rinse the suds then helps both boys dry off after the paint is finally gone.

"So why were you guys in Time Out," he asks as he pats Bryndyn's hands with the washcloth. Trystyn raises his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug, throwing up his clean palms.

"Daddy mad," Bryndyn replies.

Peeta raises an eyebrow at his elder nephew and a mischievous grin spreads onto Trystyn's face. "Daddy's golf clubs don't chop down trees like George Washington's ax." Peeta has to emit a soft laugh at the explanation, the image of his nephews enthusiastically hacking at a tree with Grant's precious clubs.

"Come on, guys. Did you eat breakfast?"

"We had some Cheerios when we woke up," Trystyn replies. "But I'm hungry." Peeta glances at his watch. It's just after eleven, perhaps a little early for lunch but he might as well feed them.

"So then let's go downstairs and get you some lunch," he suggests. "What does Alecia usually make you?" He likes the boys' nanny, a matronly older woman with a heavy Portuguese accent—she at least instills a bit of order into their day.

Trystyn makes a face. "She makes us eat vegetables and those gross things with the meat inside them and she doesn't let us have potato chips."

Peeta chuckles again. "Okay, well, maybe I can give in on the potato chips today, but the rest of your lunch should be healthier. Let's see what your mom has in the fridge." The boys rush ahead of him and thunder down the stairs.

"Who are you?" Peeta hears Trystyn ask, and as he rounds the corner he finds Katniss holding the baby against her shoulder, tenderly patting the infant's back, the empty bottle on the end table. She meets his eyes and gives him a modest smile, and her pride is clear on her face. He can't contain his own smile and the swelling in his heart at the sight.

"Boys, this is—" He starts to introduce Katniss to them, but Trystyn's eyes narrow suspiciously and he places his hands on his hips.

"Where's Aunt Glimmer?" he blurts. "Who's she?" Peeta sighs and stoops down, placing a hand on the little boy's shoulder.

"This is my friend, Katniss."

"I like kitty cats," Bryndyn declares, scrambling onto the couch beside Katniss. She continues patting Devyn's back and gives Bryndyn a warm smile.

"Aunt Glimmer is prettier," Trystan says bluntly. Peeta winces and gives Katniss a quick apologetic look, but she seems more amused than offended. The baby burps loudly, and she adjusts the little body in her arms as his fist gropes for the end of her braid.

"Trys, when was the last time Aunt Glimmer came with me when I babysat you or took you to the park or the zoo or anywhere?"

The little boy furrows his blond brows and thinks hard. "I don't know."

"That's because she never comes places with me," Peeta continues, keeping his voice calm and neutral. "You sometimes see her at Nana and Grandpa's club on Sundays, but she doesn't do very many things with Uncle Peeta anymore."

"Do you not love her?"

Peeta sighs and moves to the loveseat opposite where Katniss sits with his other two nephews. He pulls Trystyn to stand before him, looking at the boy seriously. "Trys, Aunt Glimmer and I aren't going to be married anymore."

"So you don't love her," he replies flatly. "Like my friend Austin's parents. They don't love each other anymore and now he has to live in two houses." Peeta exchanges another quick glance with Katniss. She smiles encouragingly, rocking the baby, whose eyes have closed as his little chest moves rapidly with his sleeping breaths.

"Yeah, buddy, I guess that's kind of the same thing. We'll live in different houses too.

But Aunt Glimmer and I don't have any children. We don't even have a dog to fight over so that will make things easier."

Trystyn considers the explanation and shrugs. "I guess Aunt Glimmer wasn't any fun. Maybe your new girlfriend will play with me."

"Oh, Trys, she's not my girlfriend," Peeta replies slowly. "I'm still married to your aunt. But Katniss is a good friend of mine. I've known her since I was your age."

"We went to kindergarten together," Katniss interjects. Trystyn's eyes light up.

"I'll be in kindergarten next year!"

"Really? You look like you could already be a kindergartener!" She embellishes her reaction and the boy's blue eyes glitter again.

"I'm only four! I'll be five in three weeks." He holds up his whole hand and waggles five fingers at her.

"My birthday is two weeks, but I need a lot more than two hands if I'm going to tell you my age."

"Uncle Peeta is gonna make me a big cake—" He throws his arms out to the side to demonstrate. "—and it's gonna be chocolate with chocolate icing and he's gonna make it look like a train!"

"Really?"

"Uh, huh. He can make you a cake too…he bakes the best cakes…what would you want yours to look like?

"Oh, I don't know," Katniss begins, precariously shifting the sleeping baby in her arms as Bryndyn lays his head against her shoulder. "I'm not hard to please. I like chocolate too. But I've always really liked carrot cake with cream cheese frosting."

"Ew! Carrots in a cake?" Trystyn gags and sticks his tongue out.

"It's a fun way to eat your vegetables," she replies playfully. She winks at Trystyn and Peeta feels a strange sensation migrate through him as he watches her interacting with his nephews. There's a serenity that settles over him and if he wasn't already falling in love with her before this, he's almost certain that he's there now. This is far more than a latent crush—and why he knows he needs to tread so cautiously as they near starting a relationship.

She catches him staring at her and lifts her brows at him, her lips curling up and he shakes his head at her good-naturedly. She gestures down at Devyn and he motions to the Pack 'N Play set up in front of the dormant fireplace.

"Trystyn, Bryndyn, come on. Let's go make lunch and let Katniss put your brother down."

The boys race into the kitchen, and Katniss stands, moving slowly and deliberately so as not to disturb the baby. Peeta grins and walks over to her. "He's a pretty sound sleeper."

"On his back, right?" she asks, stopping beside the travel playpen. He nods and she gently places the baby in the center of the mattress, sliding her arms out from beneath his supine form.

"Turn on the mobile," he suggests, and she cranks the lever a few times so the little ducks begin to circle above his head.

"Ducks," she murmurs, a wistful smile on her face. He pushes her braid behind her shoulder and places one hand casually on her left hip. "Prim loved ducks when she was a baby. She had one just like this." She sighs. "He looks so peaceful right now." He hears the reverence in her voice, and he yearns to pull her flush against him and hold her tight, and for a fleeting moment he imagines standing over a crib, watching his own baby sleep, Katniss in his arms. He clears his throat and steps back.

"Did you want to help me with lunch?"

"Uh, sure," she answers. "I'm pretty useless in the kitchen though."

"I'll go easy on you," he teases.

As it turns out, Katniss is far more useful keeping Trystyn and Bryndyn occupied while Peeta prepares grilled cheese with prosciutto and tomato and spoons yogurt into bowls for each boy. He adds a few carrots to their plates and when Trystyn verbalizes a vehement protest that Peeta promised potato chips, he nods in affirmation and tells his nephew that he'll get his chips—once his plate and bowl are clean and he drinks all his milk. After a few grumbles and some coaxing from Katniss—who makes a big production of inhaling her sandwich—both boys finally finish their lunches and earn their potato chips _and _an Oreo that Peeta found stashed near the back of the pantry, unopened.

Peeta grabs the baby's monitor and the four of them head outside so Trystyn and Bryndyn can play on the elaborate swingset that Grant had erected in the rear of the yard. Katniss helps Bryndyn into the toddler swing and secures the belt over his lap and begins to gently push him as Trystyn clamors for Peeta to push him higher. Soon the boys tire of swinging and run to the sandbox. Peeta leads Katniss to the Adirondack chairs that surround the fire pit, and they sit down to watch his nephews sift the sand and fill dump trucks with it and occasionally throw it at each other, receiving threats of more Time Outs from him.

"You're so good with them," she murmurs.

"You've done just fine yourself today," he returns, reaching over the arm of his chair to take her hand in his. "Even with the baby," he adds. "You're a natural."

She blushes and ducks her head. "Not really. You told me what to do."

He takes a deep breath and debates posing the question he has been wondering about all afternoon—since he saw her cradling the baby so tenderly. "Do you…have you ever thought about children?"

"Like having them?" He nods. "Ah, no. Not really."

"No?"

"No," she affirms, staring down at their intertwined hands. "But I've never really had anyone that I thought I could have them with so…" Her words dissipate and her cheeks flush a deeper red and she pulls her hand away, wringing it with her other one in her lap. "You really want kids."

"I do."

"I can see why," she says softly. "You'd be a great dad, Peeta."

"It's for the best it never happened with Glimmer," he says, gazing out over the yard and feeling a twinge of resentment at all that Grant has and how little his brother and his wife seem to appreciate their lovely home and three sons. "I hope someday the right woman wants all this with me." He speaks the words deliberately, his eyes transfixed on hers as he gestures to indicate the house and the yard and the kids. She drops her eyes and presses her lips together.

"A woman would have to be crazy not to," she whispers, echoing her words from his office yesterday, and he swallows, wanting the world to slip away so he can sweep her into his arms and mold her mouth to his and take her right here in the grass.

A crackling noise, followed by a soft whimper and then a longer, louder wail, erupts from the monitor, and when Peeta rises to head for the house, Katniss lurches from her seat and places a firm hand on his arm, shoving him back down into his chair.

"Stay. I'll get him," she offers with a timid smile.

"I'll get the boys and we'll be in in a few minutes, okay?"

She nods and he watches her retreating form approach the house and disappear inside. A sudden tug on the sleeve of Peeta's shirt startles him. "I like her, Uncle Peeta," Trystyn whispers with a conspiratorial smile.

"Me too, buddy." He grins and gives his nephew a thumbs-up. "Me too."

After Bryndyn takes the world's shortest nap and Trystyn watches _Cars _twice, Katniss is coloring at the table with the two older boys while Peeta washes some lettuce to prepare a small salad for the boys to keep them placated until Grant and Carys arrive home when his brother and sister-in-law finally walk through the door at quarter after five. Carys doesn't even approach the kitchen; Peeta hears her heavy footfalls on the stairs and a door slams resoundingly a few moments later. Grant greets his sons and lifts Devyn from his swing, planting noisy kisses on his chubby cheeks.

"Everything okay, Grant? The baby's fine?" Peeta asks, shredding the leaves of Romaine into a large bowl. A broad smile dominates his brother's face as he ruffles Bryndyn's blond curls. He explains that both Carys and the baby are indeed fine, but his wife is going to have to take it easy for the next few months to be completely safe—modified bed rest, he calls it.

"We'll see if Alecia can increase her hours, and if not, we might have to look into an au pair or something, but we'll manage," Grant finishes. He smiles ruefully. "It's another boy." Peeta's eyes flit to the ceiling, and he knows his sister-in-law is most certainly sulking in the master bedroom. It's none of his business, of course, but he fills with irritation that she could be so selfish to be disappointed when her baby is healthy. He empathizes with Devyn and this new baby—he knows all too well the disappointment of being a boy when a girl was coveted. His mother never hid it and he doubts Carys will either.

"Daddy, look at my train!" Trystyn announces gleefully, holding up his coloring book page. "Katniss did the smokestack, but I colored everything else!"

"Great job, kiddo." Grant removes his suit jacket and sighs. "I'm gonna go upstairs and change, but I'm just gonna order a pizza. Did you two want to stay for dinner?" He removes a bottle from the refrigerator and turns on the warmer when Deyvn starts to fuss in his arms.

"Thanks, Grant, but I should probably get Katniss home. It's been a long day." The boys both utter a protest at the loss of their coloring partner, but Katniss smiles and tells them she'll come play with them anytime. Peeta gives his brother a sheepish grin when Grant shoots him an inquisitive look.

"We'll talk," he promises his brother as he leads Katniss into the foyer where she retrieves her small purse from the entryway table. Grant thanks them both and they exchange farewells; Peeta successfully manages to avoid committing to seeing him at Sunday brunch but grudgingly agrees to a round of golf on Saturday morning.

When he drops Katniss off at her apartment, she leans over the console and gives him a genuine smile as she thanks him and says, "I had a really nice day with you." He cups her cheek and returns the smile.

"Thanks for keeping me company."

"Any time," she whispers, her lips twitching faintly. He wants to kiss her so badly, but it's broad daylight and he knows anyone could see them. She hovers for a few more moments, and he thinks he spies a trace of dismay in her eyes before she retreats and exits the car, and this time it's her lingering on the stoop as he waves and drives off, regret and impatience fusing in his veins.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13-Sunday, May 3rd**

_**(Katniss)**_

* * *

"Ugh, I don't like this one already," Johanna hisses. "Yellow walls in the fucking foyer? What, does the damn Brady Bunch live here?"

"Jo, shhh," Katniss shoots back and exchanges a look with Gale. His dark brows knit predictably as he rolls his eyes at Jo's antics. His expression clearly says, 'did you have to bring her too?'

Katniss knows it might be contentious to have both Johanna and Gale house hunting with her. Her two friends _think_ themselves to be polar opposites and often butt heads about the most trivial things, but ever since she met Johanna, she has always thought had Gale not started dating Madge, the brusque brunette could have been an interesting match for her ex.

Inviting Gale was a no-brainer. She trusts his opinion implicitly, and he will be brutally honest with her. But Johanna happened to have a rare Sunday off from Cray's and invited herself along to join them. Katniss couldn't refuse her.

In reality, she wishes she were in entirely different company today. Part of her had yearned to ask Peeta to hop with her from open house to open house. Haymitch had actually encouraged her to get a realtor and allow him or her to show her around to the various homes on the market in Panem, but she dismissed the idea, arguing that she's not looking seriously. The money is there now; she just can't explain why she feels she's not ready to leave her apartment yet.

Or maybe she can. Subconsciously, she knows it has to do with a certain blue-eyed restaurateur. Peeta himself is currently in temporary housing—though she's fairly certain whatever hotel room he has at the Hyatt far supersedes her closet of an apartment. Is it foolish for her to even entertain the idea that if things fall into line with his divorce and he's serious that he wants her as badly as she wants him that she could see getting serious enough with him that they might be living together in the near future? Probably, she scolds herself. Even when Peeta is free to see her, he could want to move slowly given the circumstances. Maybe he won't even want to remarry. How ironic would that be—as she finally warms to the idea of marriage she'd fall in love with someone who'd have a good reason to be even more gun-shy than she's been?

"Katniss?" Gale nudges her, jolting her from her reverie.

"Huh?"

He smirks at her, and Johanna rolls her eyes and stalks past them into the kitchen where Katniss hears her promptly get accosted by the ebullient realtor who is hosting the open house. "You can daydream in the car," Gale chides. "Shouldn't we look around this place?"

"I don't like it," she murmurs, glancing up at the gaudy chandelier.

Gale snorts. "Those can be replaced, Catnip. Sometimes the owners take 'em with them anyway."

"It's not just that. I can't see myself living here so it's a waste of time to even look around." She plants her hands on her hips and purses her lips at him. "Why don't _you _look around?"

Gale gives her an amused smile. "I wouldn't dream of looking for a house without Madge. She'd kill me." He shrugs. "Besides I think we're just going to look at townhouses for now, something smaller so we can start stashing some money aside for future campaigning." He winks at her.

"Peeta lives in Victor Village," she replies immediately, citing the large community of condos right near Gale's apartment. "Well, lived there. I mean…" She pauses and narrows her eyes when Gale's bemused smile widens.

"I get it. God you have it bad," he laughs.

"Let's get out of here," Johanna announces, stalking through the foyer. "This place is not your speed, Brainless." She glances back over her shoulder. "And the realtor's assistant is a skeevy perv."

The next place is nice. That's about the only word Katniss can muster for it. It's perfectly plain: a very simple floor plan, an adequate kitchen, four bedrooms, two-and-a-half baths…nice. Johanna wrinkles her nose in disgust as they finish examining the second floor.

"Why the hell are you looking at such boring places, Everdeen? You should be touring those big fancy houses over in Capitol Heights."

"I don't need an enormous mansion, Jo," she replies quietly, gazing at the basic kitchen again. It would never meet Peeta's approval—he'd barely have room to move that solid, muscular frame around that tiny island and the paltry counter space would never be enough for his culinary concoctions. Her cheeks flush when she realizes she's imagining him as part of this equation again, and she really has no right to do that. "I really don't need any of this. My apartment—"

"Catnip, not again. You're getting out of that apartment. Jesus, would you think of yourself for once and enjoy that money? You're a millionaire now! Johanna is right." He catches her amused expression. "Yeah, fuck you." He chuckles. "I said it. Johanna is right: let's go look at something big and showy and pretend for a few minutes that you'd actually entertain the idea of living in it." Gale grabs her arm and drags her through the door. Johanna taps the screen on her phone a few times when they reach Gale's car and shoves it over the seat to Katniss.

"There's the Zillow app. Start looking." She nods at Gale. "Drive. Just head towards Capitol Heights."

Katniss allows Gale and Johanna to spend the rest of the afternoon driving her through the ostentatious neighborhoods of the gated community, ogling the massive homes and manicured lawns and large swimming pools. The houses here are even bigger than Peeta's brother's, and she starts to daydream about her afternoon with Peeta and his nephews again. It was so natural and easy for him to interact with the boys, and she couldn't really describe the warm feeling that flooded her entire body watching him with them. Not once before that day had she ever considered wanting to have children with someone—not even Gale when they dated.

She had answered Peeta's question honestly—she never wanted kids. She had always figured Prim would be the one with a gaggle of kids and she would just assume the role of the doting aunt. There wasn't any one reason she could pinpoint for why she had felt that way; her parents' deaths had forced her to grow up a little sooner than she'd have liked, but before her father passed away, she had had a relatively happy childhood and her parents had had a good marriage. It was painful to watch her mother self-destruct after the loss of her father, though, and Katniss knows that has in part shaped her heretofore-cynical views on love.

"There's a sign in front of that one!" Johanna crows. "Let's go in. Stop the car, Adonis." Gale gives Johanna a patronizing glare in the rearview mirror at her nickname for him, and Katniss snickers softly. But when she glances out the window at the home Gale parks in front of, her jaw drops and she shakes her head.

"No fucking way, Jo. This is a castle! The realtor is going to take one look at us and laugh us out of the house."

But Johanna is already out of the car and striding purposefully up the lengthy Belgian paving stone driveway. Gale shuts off the engine and snorts as he exits the car. "She's incorrigible."

"That's putting it nicely," she replies dryly. She continues to gape at the massive stone-and-brick edifice ahead of her. It's gorgeous—there is no denying it, landscaped with perfectly trimmed shrubs and large hydrangea and oleander bushes. Katniss wrinkles her nose at the choice of the latter; it's highly poisonous, not to mention it doesn't really thrive as well in the climate of the northeast. These people clearly don't have young children or pets. She bites back a smile as she realizes the implication of that thought.

"What are you grinning about?" Gale asks, raising an eyebrow at her as they slowly walk up the driveway.

"What? Oh, nothing," she demurs, eyes raking over the three-car garage and squinting at the small building just beyond it. It stands beside an enormous pool, and Katniss understands it must be some kind of a pool house. _Holy shit. _"This place is insane."

Gale chuckles. "Johanna is insane."

"I'm serious, Gale, this is the kind of house _you're_ going to live in when you're a big important state senator or governor or something. This isn't me."

Gale stops and takes her hands in his, giving her an earnest look. "Catnip, no one says you have to live here. Just have fun looking around. But I wish you'd stop selling yourself short."

"It's too much house for one person," she whispers as he squeezes her hand and they mount the front steps, pushing open the heavy front door.

They find Johanna inside, already speaking with the realtor—a serious looking man in a three-piece suit—and she waves them over. "This is her," Johanna says to the man. He sizes Katniss up before a guarded smile raises his lips.

"Flavius Winston. Nice to meet you, Ms. Everdeen. I understand you've recently come into quite a large sum of money."

Katniss shoots Johanna a withering glare, but her friend just grins and opens a door in the foyer, wandering off to explore the house. "Uh, yeah. I kind of, um…" She finds that no many how many times she explains the unusual circumstances of her lottery windfall that it doesn't seem to get any less awkward.

"I know. I heard all about it and knew who you were the minute your friend explained things. You're kind of a celebrity in these parts now, huh?" Flavius smiles appraisingly. "Now, shall I show you around?" She glances at Gale hesitantly and he nudges her.

She listens politely as Flavius guides them around the sumptuous home; she gawks at the kitchen, which easily seems larger than her entire apartment and gleams with stainless-steel appliances and hardwood cabinets. Closing her eyes briefly, she envisions perching on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, watching Peeta cook and the heat rises on her cheeks when she imagines him taking her against the counter on a lazy Sunday morning.

"Get your mind out of the fucking gutter," Johanna hisses, and Katniss's eyes fly open, glaring at her friend. "Some people use their kitchens to eat, Everdeen." She smirks and elbows Katniss. "Not to be eaten out in."

"Shut up," she shoots back, mortified by Johanna's words.

"There are five bedrooms and a sitting room upstairs," Johanna continues slyly. "How long would it take you and Golden Boy to fill those up with babies?"

"Johanna, shut the fuck up!" she rasps, struggling to listen to Flavius drone on about the updates to the kitchen; even though the information is largely irrelevant to her, focusing on little mundane details will keep her mind from wandering to fantasies of Peeta Mellark and bearing his children.

Flavius finishes showing them the first floor, and Katniss gawks as they ascend a rear staircase to the second level—the house has _two_ damn staircases? And Johanna is correct; there are indeed five large bedrooms. The master has the aforementioned sitting room off to the side and the biggest bathroom Katniss has ever seen. Even Gale gapes at the size of the whirlpool tub and generous shower.

"I can't imagine not having to stoop under a showerhead," he says, shaking his head.

"Well it's a good thing that four or five people could fit in there so when Katniss has those wild orgies—"

"Johanna!" Katniss screeches, stealing a glance at the realtor, who stands in the doorway scanning his phone's screen. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I'm just kidding, Brainless. Geez. Keep your panties on. We all know the only person who would see the inside of that shower with you would be Peet—"

"Johanna, enough. Leave her alone," Gale reprimands. "Or you'll scare her off from actually going for it when Mellark is finally a free man."

"Shut up, both of you," she grits out through clenched teeth, shaking the vision of her wet, soapy body backed up against the frosted shower door, Peeta's hands on her breasts and his lips attacking her neck. She needs to get the hell out of this house—and preferably back to her apartment promptly to relieve the slick heat that has her drenched between her thighs. She stalks from the room before she can let her eyes linger on the four-poster king bed and slip further into fantasyland.

"Well, Ms. Everdeen, did we like what we saw?" Flavius tents his fingers and motions towards a plastic sleeve on the kitchen island. "Please feel free to take one of the spec sheets, and if you don't have a realtor—"

"I do," she fibs abruptly. "But thank you. It's a lovely home. I'll certainly think about it. But we should get going…"

"Wouldn't you like to see the backyard? The pool is only a few years old and the hot tub—"

"No, that's all right," she cuts him off again. The last thing she needs is to go outside and start daydreaming about being naked with Peeta in that hot tub or seeing little blonde toddlers running through the vast yard, playing on an imaginary jungle gym. "I'm sure it's all very lovely." She cringes as she keeps using the same adjective again and again.

The realtor gets in a few more sales pitches before Katniss is finally able to drag Gale and Johanna out the door.

"You should totally make an offer on that house, Everdeen," Johanna declares as she fastens her seat belt and cracks her gum loudly. Katniss sighs and leans back on the seat rest.

"It's too much house for one person, Jo. Drop it. Gale, can we please go to one of those smaller communities over near where Madge's parents live?" As a teenager, Katniss had always thought Madge's upscale house was huge, but in comparison to what she just saw, the homes in those neighborhoods are modest.

Gale obliges and they spend the next hour navigating the tidy streets of Madge's childhood community, and Katniss listens politely as Gale opens up a little about his insecurities feeling like he's—his words, 'not good enough'—for Madge in spite of all his ambitions. Johanna interjects her usual two cents, and Katniss is thoroughly exhausted by the time Gale drops her and Johanna off in front of her apartment at half-past four.

"You wanna go get dinner?" she suggests to Johanna. Her stomach rumbles softly, reminding her of the meager breakfast she scarfed down after her run. She hadn't bothered to eat lunch before the house-hunting jaunt, and she can't recall if there's anything edible in her fridge. Johanna looks genuinely flustered and an apologetic smile tugs on her lips.

"I'm, um, meeting Thresh for dinner at that Italian place that just opened across from Thirteen-12. I'm sorry," she added hastily.

"Jo, please don't apologize for having a social life. I'm really happy for you that you've met a decent guy."

Johanna's dark eyes suddenly light up. "Call Peeta. Or text him. Come to dinner with us."

"Oh, no, Jo. No way. Go have a nice dinner with Thresh. I'll be fine."

"Why not, Everdeen? You want him all to yourself?" she teases, but Katniss squirms and sighs.

"Peeta, um, said he doesn't want to be alone with me."

"When did he say that?" Johanna challenges, rolling her eyes. "While you were on your fucking babysitting date?"

"It wasn't a date—"

"Bullshit. I call bullshit, Brainless. That guy wants nothing _more_ than to be alone with you. Anyone can see it." She gave Katniss a stern look. "In fact, I would say you guys should be careful with the looks and the touches and the 'I want to fuck your brains out' vibes when you sit down with the cameras tomorrow."

"Thanks for the advice," she replies dryly.

But for the rest of the night, Katniss stresses over her friend's comment. Plutarch had also given Katniss and Peeta some sage advice in his office to keep their answers simple and direct and gently reminded them not to stare at each other too much, but Johanna's words keep weaving an insidious path through her mind. How can she watch for something that she's not even aware she's doing?

* * *

Her stomach is still a flurry of nervous energy when she wakes up just before seven after a restless night's sleep. And it's no longer just about her feelings for Peeta and her general unease with attention and the notion that their sit-down with Caesar Flickerman will be broadcast nationally. There is something still niggling at her conscience that Glimmer has sinister ulterior motives by demanding to be interviewed separately from Peeta.

Her nerves are further exacerbated when she stands in front of her closet in her bra and panties and flips through her meager wardrobe, wrinkling her nose in disgust at everything she touches. How did she not think to buy herself something new and nice for this stupid interview?

A flash of inspiration hits her and twists her stomach into a knot. She bites her lip and glances at the clock. She's supposed to be at Thirteen-12 by 8 am. Peeta had insisted the interview with Caesar not interrupt his restaurant's regular operations, so the producers had agreed to start early. Her stomach drops as she realizes it's probably cutting it too close for the silly idea that she's just had. Still, she finds her hand on the little card in her wallet, punching the numbers into her phone and waiting impatiently for an answer, praying he's even there to pick up.

Thankfully, that rich honeyed tone fills her ears, and she exhales. "Cinna? It's Katniss….Everdeen. I'm, um…"

"I remember, Katniss. It's nice to hear your voice this morning. I was hoping this call wasn't the bride who has the eleven am with me and has already postponed her fitting five times. What can I do for you?"

She briefly explains her dilemma and there's a measured pause on the other end. "If you can get here in the next fifteen minutes I can certainly try to work my magic."

Throwing on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, she tosses her makeup into a Ziploc bag and grabs her hairbrush then locks her door and flies down the stairs. Within ten minutes, she's knocking gently on the door of Cinna's salon. He greets her with a gentle, conspiratorial smile. "I think I found just the thing." Motioning for her to come inside, he relocks the door and gestures to a charcoal grey sheath dress hanging from one of his fitting rooms. "I was going to do girl-next-door, but I'm sure Glimmer will be going full on glamour so why not take your look a step up, hmm?" She smiles and nods, stepping towards the dress and sliding her fingers up the sleek fabric.

"It's gorgeous," she breathes.

Cinna winks at her. "And just in case the producers aren't a fan of the grey—" He pulls the sheath off the door and reveals a pale pink sundress that's somehow sexy and demure. She's never been a fan of pink, but she can't deny the dress is beautiful. "Take them both."

"Cinna, I couldn't possibly—"

He waves a hand dismissively. "I insist."

"I'll bring them back when I pick up my gown on Fri—"

Cutting her off again, he holds up a finger. "You'll do nothing of the sort. But try them on before you leave to be sure I chose wisely. You're much tinier than my usual sample sizes so I had to go into my off-the-rack collection."

She's pleased to discover both dresses are perfect fits, and when she leaves Cinna's shop a few minutes later, she feels infinitely more confident than she did when she awoke. She's a little uncomfortable about her strappy silver sandals, but they'll have to do; besides, who is going to see her feet seated for an interview?

When she pulls up to the restaurant at quarter to eight, the curb in front is already swarming with Caesar's crew and she furrows her brow as she turns into the small lot where the staff parks. She can't say she's surprised to find Peeta holed up in his car, his head reclined against the seat with his eyes closed. She smiles to herself and leans down, rapping her knuckles lightly against the window.

"Déjà vu," she says when the window lowers and he smiles at her.

"Hey." He gives her a warm smile.

"You hiding out from the vultures already?"

He opens the door and climbs out of the car and as he does, she takes a moment to admire how good he looks in the grey dress slacks and pale blue pinstriped shirt. He opens the rear door and grabs his suit jacket that hangs from the hook above the window. Shrugging it on, he clicks the auto-lock button on the key fob after slamming the door. "I was waiting for you," he murmurs, and the sincerity in his voice causes her stomach to flutter. "I thought you might be nervous and this was the only way I could talk to you alone before we get ambushed." She starts to open her mouth, but he holds up a palm and smiles wryly. "I know, I know, we're alone. I knew you'd have something to say about that."

"Thanks for your concern. But I think I'm okay." She holds up the garment bags draped over her arm. "Your brother-in-law is a really calming presence."

"Yeah, he is. He's wonderful. Kieran is a lucky guy." He offers her his elbow. "Shall we?" She fights the flutters that threaten to migrate beyond her stomach. Looping her free arm through his, she follows as he unlocks the rear door and ushers her inside.

After they put their things in the respective offices, he sticks his head in. "I'm going to go let the crew that's circling the curb inside. You ready for this?"

She nods. "I'll go with you."

When he opens the front door, they are swept up in a hurricane of voices and bodies and equipment being rushed past them. Katniss immediately recognizes Portia, the producer, and the striking woman gives her and Peeta a welcoming smile as she explains that Caesar is on his way and they're aiming to begin filming in an hour.

"We have a stylist with us to do your hair and makeup, Ms. Everdeen," Portia adds kindly.

"What about my makeup?" Peeta teases, and Katniss shoots him a playful look.

"Oh, she'll need you too, Mr. Mellark. No worries. No one goes in front of a camera without makeup." Portia clicks her tongue when Peeta's handsome face contorts in mock indignation and Katniss has to laugh.

Venia, the show's stylist, is no nonsense. She directs Katniss into a chair and immediately begins plucking and sculpting and knitting her own brows in concentration as she riffles through her own vast array of cosmetics; the little Ziploc bag of remains untouched in Katniss's bag.

Her scalp actually hurts from the vigor with which Venia tugs and twists Katniss's hair into a myriad of styles before the woman finally decides to leave it down in soft waves.

"Now, what are you wearing?" Venia asks in a clipped tone, scrutinizing Katniss's current attire.

"I, uh, I have two things with me. I thought I'd let the show decide what was more appropriate." She stands and unzips both garment bags. Venia cocks her head and studies both dresses.

"Mr. Mellark is wearing grey. Do we want you in grey too?" The question seems rhetorical, so Katniss bounces lightly on the balls of her feet and waits for the stylist's answer.

As it turns out, Portia is the one to make the decision, she demands Katniss wear the pink sundress, and her exact words parrot Cinna's: 'it's very girl-next-door.' "After all, you're America's sweetheart right now," she chirps. Katniss smiles drolly at the woman's use of her uncle's favorite term of endearment for her—one he sarcastically bestowed on her when they butted heads more than a few times during the first days she and Prim lived with him after their mother's death.

She takes a deep breath and heads into the bar where the lights and cameras are being arranged. Peeta mills about, carefully watching the technicians scurrying around his restaurant. When his eyes meet hers, she feels that flurrying again at the ardent look in those blue eyes as he scans her up and down.

"You look beautiful," he murmurs quietly as Portia claps her hands and starts barking out a litany of commands to the crew.

"Thank you," she replies, wiping her damp hands on the skirt of her dress before she chastises herself for doing so. The last thing she needs is gross sweat stains on the delicate fabric.

Katniss can't say she's ever really watched the _Caesar Flickerman Show _for more than a fleeting second if the remote control happened to pass over it, but she instantly understands why he's so popular. From the minute he breezes through Thirteen-12's door, he's a whirlwind of charisma, all gleaming white teeth and crinkled eyes and deep laughter. He struts around the restaurant, jovially chatting with Peeta, praising everything from the décor to the choice of beers on the taps at the bar. Her stomach flips, the nerves surging to life again. She's nowhere near as gregarious as the two men who will be seated beside her and across from her. What the hell was she thinking agreeing to this?

"Katniss?" She snaps her head to attention and finds Peeta smiling at her gently. "It's time to get started." He glances over his shoulder and grazes his thumb over her cheek discreetly in a reassuring touch. "You'll be fine."

Once she and Peeta are settled in chairs the crew has arranged in front of the bar, Caesar waits for his cue and when the cameraman waggles his fingers and counts down, the affable host begins speaking directly into the lens, offering an explanation for the lack of a studio audience and detailing why he's on location and segues to rehashing the details of the massive lotto jackpot and briefly refers to some of the other winners. Then he gives a dazzling smile and turns his attention to Katniss and Peeta.

"But one story that emerged once the identities of the winners slowly trickled out was a thoroughly unique one, a charming tale about a waitress and an unexpected tip. By now you're all familiar with their names, but I am delighted to be coming to you today from the restaurant owned by Mr. Peeta Mellark, the man who left that infamous tip, and Ms. Katniss Everdeen, the lucky girl who went to work one morning and unwittingly left a millionaire. Mr. Mellark, thank you for so graciously opening your doors to my crew and me. You have quite the establishment here."

"It's my pleasure," Peeta says smoothly, and Katniss feels some of the tension leave her body from the cadence of his voice. "But you should really reserve your judgment until you've been treated to a meal." Caesar chuckles at the joke, and Peeta's smile widens.

"If those scallops I smelled earlier are on the menu, I think you may have a hard time getting me out of here." He leans forward and whispers playfully, "And then wardrobe is going to have a hard time getting me in my suit tomorrow."

Caesar asks a few polite questions about the restaurant and the inspiration, and Peeta speaks fluidly about growing up and helping in his father's deli and bakery and always wanting to be a chef. He gives full credit to Finnick and his staff and surprises Katniss with what comes out of his mouth next. "The lottery winnings couldn't have come at a better time, to be honest, Caesar. I've been tossing around the idea of opening another establishment here in Panem, and I think it's something I'm going to pursue now."

"Sounds like a plan, Peeta. But I'm going to turn my attention to the beautiful woman sitting next to you," Caesar says, and Peeta gives Katniss a quick raise of his eyebrows when they both assume the camera is back on the host. She smiles back, nodding her approval at his revelation, and those impossibly blue eyes sparkle at her. "Now, Katniss, you said at the press conference when you were introduced to the world that the morning Peeta made the offer to split the ticket with you, it turned out to be your last day at your job. Were you psychic or something, my dear?"

She hears a giggle pass her lips, her nerves clearly at play. "Um, no, actually, I was, um, fired the next day," she admits sheepishly, and Caesar rounds his eyes comically.

"Oh well that must have seemed to be a spot of bad luck at the time, huh?"

"Um, I guess. But I hated that place so…" She giggles nervously again. God, why does she suck so badly at this?

"So?" Caesar prompts, flashing a row of white teeth. "Peeta told us that he always aspired to own a restaurant. Is being a waitress something you always wanted to do, or did you have other dreams?"

Katniss wrinkles her nose instinctively, but she considers what Peeta said and takes a cue from him to speak a little about her past. She finds it's actually easy to talk about her parents' death and how her uncle took her in and while being a waitress and a bartender is not her life's goal, Abernathy's has always been a second home and taking care of others seems to be in her blood. She feels Peeta's gaze on her, and it raises a natural smile on her lips. "But I do enjoy working here at Thirteen-12," she adds. "Even if it's a pretty far cry from songwriting."

This piques Caesar's attention. "Songwriting? Really? I'm intrigued. Does that come from a love of music or a love of poetry or being good with words—"

"Definitely not the last one," she interrupts, giving him a quick grin. "Have you heard me so far?" Caesar tilts his head back and laughs, and she chances a look at Peeta again. He's grinning as well. "Um, I guess it started with music. My father was an amazing singer, and there wasn't a time I don't remember our little house being filled with his voice or the voices of the artists he admired." As she speaks about her father, she can hear the tremor in her own voice, and out of the corner of her eyes she sees Peeta flinch, his hand poised as if he wants to reach out and comfort her, but he stops. She manages to steady herself and finishes up by explaining she's sent some songs off to labels in New York and LA and even Nashville. "But so far, no news is bad news," she says amiably.

"Well perhaps this will change things," Caesar answers with a gleam in his eye. Katniss raises her shoulders in a little shrug, and then to her surprise, Peeta clears his throat.

"Katniss is not only a talented songwriter," he begins, "but she definitely inherited her father's gift for singing. Half the mornings I have the sense to turn off our sound system and just let her entertain the patrons." Her mouth gapes slightly and he laughs. "You think no one can hear you when you hum to yourself." She blushes and Caesar raises a groomed eyebrow.

"When we return from commercial, I think it's about time we address why it is I'm not seeing a wedding band on your finger anymore, Peeta. We'll be right back."

And he pauses, but since the show isn't live and will be edited, it's only an announcement to send that segment to break, and Katniss doesn't have time to swallow back the lump rising in her throat before Caesar is being given the signal to resume his interview. As the cameraman's fingers flash a three, then a two, Katniss gives Peeta a look of restrained panic and he tries to reassure her with his eyes.

"We're back," Caesar declares with a flourish. "And we're still talking with Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen, two of the big winners of the recent PowerBall lottery. But as a lot of the country knows, there was a third winner that shared in their ticket. Your wife, Peeta, is not with us this morning, and as I mentioned before we went to break, you clearly are not wearing your wedding ring."

Peeta doesn't wait for Caesar to pose a follow-up question. "That's right, Caesar. My soon-to-be-ex wife didn't wish to be interviewed with me, so that's why she's not here."

Caesar offers a sympathetic nod. "We'll be hearing from Glimmer in a little bit. But tell me, Peeta, how was it that your marriage crumbled so quickly when you two stood together just a few weeks ago claiming your check?" Katniss swallows; she can swear Caesar casts an incriminating look in her direction.

"My marriage had been in trouble for quite some time, Caesar," he replies evenly. "All the lottery ticket did for me was to bring all our differences and incompatibilities to light. Glimmer and I want very different things from life, and I wish her the best."

"I see. My condolences. But I hardly think a handsome, successful, rich guy like you is going to stay single very long. I can hear the phone ringing off the hook as we speak," he adds with a laugh, and he cranes his neck and cups his hand around his ear. "What's that? They're practically breaking down the door."

Peeta laughs good-naturedly, and Katniss manages to paste a tiny smile on her lips at Caesar's ribbing in spite of the uneasiness suddenly roiling in her. Caesar is right; Peeta is going to have half the women in America, let alone Panem, clamoring for a chance with him.

But Peeta's expression grows serious again. "Out of respect for my ex-wife, I'll do my best not to belittle what we had. But I also wear my heart on my sleeve so I'll tell you, Caesar, that I'm ready to be happy again. This lottery ticket has done far more for me than just being a financial windfall."

Her uneasiness melts into hopefulness when she feels his eyes on her. She tries to keep her countenance neutral, like that of a supportive friend, but she's sure her traitorous heart has betrayed her when Caesar's gaze shifts between them both and his own expression changes.

"Don't think that I didn't see that, Peeta," he drawls. "Am I…is America witnessing the kindling of a little spark between you and the lovely lady sitting beside you?"

She's sure her heart is having a hard time remembering how to beat properly, and heat floods her when Peeta keeps his eyes locked on Caesar's and replies evasively, "Time will tell, Caesar."

"Come, come, Mr. Mellark, you can't leave me…or my viewers with just that!" Caesar protests. "You both have to know there are rumors swirling that there is far more between you than a shared lottery ticket."

"Anything between Katniss and me is just that, Caesar. Between us."

Caesar doesn't seem placated. "Katniss, is it true that Peeta's wife is suing you?"

She gulps and glances over to Peeta, whose eyes have darkened subtly. "I, um, yes, that's true…" She curses herself for her inability to think as quickly as Peeta and handle herself with more grace. "She's, um, suing me for breaking up her marriage."

"Which is ludicrous, Caesar," Peeta interjects, finally giving in and reaching over to pat Katniss's hand comfortingly. "Because as I've already told you, my marriage was over before those lottery numbers were drawn. It just took a big push to get me to do something about it. I've said I won't slander Glimmer, but she knows why I'm ending our marriage, and it has nothing to do with any feelings I have for Katniss."

"Katniss, anything to add?" Caesar asks pointedly.

She takes a breath and meets Peeta's eyes. Something in them steadies her, gives her confidence and she straightens her shoulders and looks Caesar directly in the face. "Glimmer's lawsuit is unfounded, and I've filed a motion to have it dismissed. I'm confident that it will be and we can all move on with our lives." Peeta nods at her and as Caesar starts to wrap up the segment, he squeezes her knee affectionately and pulls his hand back before Caesar's eyes can leave their focus on the camera lens.

Katniss is only half-listening when Peeta thanks the host and works in a quick plug for the gala on Saturday night, mentioning its for a good cause and Thirteen-12 will be one of the featured restaurants. Caesar thanks them both and when the red light on the camera dims, he pulls off his microphone and an assistant comes to unhook her and Peeta as well. He thanks them again and gives them each a genuine smile and a handshake and strides off with a tall gangly woman, who must be his personal assistant, in pursuit.

Portia glides up to them. "Well that went well," she says with a bright smile. "You both did wonderfully. Peeta, you're such the charmer. Caesar is not joking. You're going to have to beat off the women with a broom or something."

"We'll see," he replies cryptically.

Portia explains that they just need to film a few exterior shots of the restaurant before they leave to interview Glimmer; Caesar has opted not to include any footage of the diner or the store where Peeta bought the ticket.

"Where is my ex-wife's interview being conducted?" Peeta asks, and Katniss has to admit she's been curious about the same thing. Portia frowns and glances down at her iPad.

"It's a residential address," she explains, scanning the screen.

Peeta nods. "My—our, well, I guess her house now."

"That would make sense," Portia replies, showing him the iPad, but his eyes narrow and he shakes his head.

"That's not my—her address," he corrects himself. Portia lifts her shoulders dismissively and then thanks them both again. Peeta reminds her that he has several appetizers and plates prepared for her, Caesar and the crew, and she smiles widely.

"Such the charmer, indeed. Thank you, Mr. Mellark. Ms. Everdeen." She gives them both a wave and Katniss watches her breeze off to the front of the restaurant. Peeta exhales and reaches down to take her hands in his.

"You did it," he praises, his face breaking into a beam. "You did great. One hurdle out of the way."

"Yeah, I guess," she murmurs, shivering as his thumb rubs gently over hers. "I guess now we wait for it to air to see what Glimmer has to say." She knows her insecurity is palpable in her voice and he moves his hand up to settle on her upper arm.

"She's not going to say anything to change where this is going, Katniss. No one can. Don't let her or any of Caesar's insinuations make you think…" He falls silent and she looks up at him.

"Think what?"

"I think we'd better get ready to open in a bit," he replies. "I kind of don't trust talking out here with the cameras still around. The things I have to say to you are for your ears only, not all of Panem…or America for that matter." He lets his fingertips brush along her arm, raising the tiny hairs on her skin in their wake and she shudders again. "But I hope you know that I'm very much looking forward to getting my mediation hearing over with and spending Saturday night with you."

* * *

Katniss is dismayed when she gets to Thirteen-12 on Thursday morning after her day off and Peeta isn't there yet. She spent Wednesday thinking about him and his mediation session with Glimmer and fought the urge all night long to text him and check on him. She wound up going for a five-mile run after the sun set to clear her head, but all the alone time did was give her more of a reason to keep Peeta in her thoughts.

She and Thom are putting together tables in the back corner for a large party when Finnick strolls in, much to her surprise, a cardboard tray from Dunkin Donuts in his hand bearing three coffees.

Thom rolls his eyes. "Never fails, eh Finn." He accepts one coffee and hands a second to Katniss.

Finnick pulls back the tab on his own cup and gives Katniss a conspiratorial wink. "Our prestigious owner is above Dunkin Donuts. So it's a running joke between Thom and me that one of us buys the D&D when Peet's not around."

"Oh, I thought Peeta was working today," she says, blowing over the lip of the lid to cool off the beverage before taking a sip.

"He texted me last night and told me he needed to take of a few things and wouldn't be in today. Annie's mother is coming by to visit the baby today so I figured I'd swing by for a few hours til Thresh comes in around one."

Katniss struggles to keep her expression nonchalant. "Is Peeta okay?"

Finnick sees right through her and smiles gently. "I'm sure he's fine."

"I, um, know he had the mediation yesterday and—"

Finnick raises his palm and cuts her off. "I think he's going to want to tell you about that himself, Katniss. It's not my place."

Her stomach twists. "But he talked to you?"

Finnick brings the Styrofoam cup to his lips, obstructing his mouth from her view, but his aqua eyes betray him and she knows he's hiding something. "Like I said, you need to hear it from Peeta."

Work goes by slowly, the minutes ticking past at a sluggish pace. She thinks of nothing but Peeta and all the horrific scenarios her bewildered brain can concoct; his words of reassurance from yesterday are all but forgotten. When Finnick leaves around two, he gives her a quick hug and swears to her that Peeta is fine and there's nothing to worry about. But it pacifies her little, and as she gathers her belongings at five and heads back to her apartment, her entire body is one taut knot of apprehension.

She doesn't even feel like changing and going out with her friends for the early birthday celebration that Johanna insisted upon since she has to work tomorrow night. Johanna extended the invite to Gale and Madge and Prim and Rory, and Katniss knows if she backs out, Johanna will be at her door in no fewer than ten minutes, dragging her out the door whether she's dressed or not.

Her sister and Rory are already at the bar when Katniss arrives, Prim waving enthusiastically and leaping from the semi-circular booth they've claimed. "Katniss! Happy birthday!"

"Not for another four hours, Little Duck," she laughs as Prim wraps her in a hug.

"Oh my gosh, I love your dress!" Prim squeals, holding Katniss at arms' length and looking up and down the grey sheath.

"Thanks. It was a gift," she replies, still feeling uncomfortable with Cinna's generosity but once she had it on and studied her reflection in the mirror, she had been pleased that she had something sexy but classy to throw on for tonight. She didn't exactly keep a closet full of clothes for clubbing—the one daring outfit she owned was the one she had been wearing the night Peeta kissed her outside her apartment.

But nothing gets past Prim. "A gift? Who's giving you gorgeous, expensive dresses, Katniss?" The singsong lilt on the second syllable of her name tells Katniss exactly who Prim thinks gave her the dress; in spite of trying to keep her feelings for Peeta under wraps, Prim somehow manages to siphon more and more information out of her about him every time they talk.

"Peeta…" She watches Prim's mouth curve into a triumphant grin, and it's her lips that lift into a smirk as she continues, "Peeta's brother-in-law. This was one of the dresses he picked out for the interview. The show had me wear the other one, so I didn't want this one to go to waste."

"Well you look amazing!" Prim gushes as she tugs Katniss towards the table where Rory rises to give her a hug and they order a round of drinks from the bartender who approaches them. Katniss lets Prim choose her cocktail for her, but she makes a face when the bartender returns with Rory's beer and two martini glasses brimming with red sugar and red liquid.

"This looks like blood," Katniss complains, raising the glass and wafting it under her nose.

"Shut up and drink it," Prim orders. "It's a red velvet cake martini."

With one tentative sip, she swallows, the alcohol warming her throat on the way down, and she stares at the glass in shock. "Holy shit that's strong."

"Lightweight," Prim giggles, raising her glass.

"Where's the fucking birthday girl?" Katniss sighs and turns her attention towards the acerbic voice she'd know anywhere, giving Johanna a smile. "Brainless, that better not still be your first drink you're nursing." She motions to the martini as she slides into the booth next to Katniss and greets Prim and Rory. "What is this, fucking True Blood? What are you drinking?"

Katniss smirks at Prim. "Ask my sister. She ordered it."

Prim begins to vociferously defend her choice of cocktails and soon enough, Gale and Madge arrive, and the six of them talk and drink and eat and laugh. For the first time that day, Katniss's mind leaves thoughts of Peeta Mellark, and she's able to relax and enjoy herself.

That is until she is spearing the last piece of celery from the Asian barbeque wings that Gale and Rory had inhaled and she nearly chokes on the stalk when Peeta appears in the doorway, and Johanna lurches off the booth's bench to signal him.

"Johanna, what the hell?" she mutters, swallowing the mouthful of celery and giving her friend a harsh look. Johanna elbows her gleefully.

"He happened to overhear me talking to Thresh this afternoon and I told Thresh to tell him where we'd be." She nods to Peeta as he pauses in front of the booth. "Hey Blondie."

"Hi, Johanna," he smiles. "Hi, Katniss." The smile he gives her is so sexy it practically curls her toes.

"Hi." She smiles back and tries to ignore her body's fevered response to how good he looks, his black t-shirt tight across his muscled chest, his toned biceps on display. "I, um, we missed you at work today," she says softly, mentally scolding herself when she remembers there are five pairs of eyes on them.

"I had some things I had to take care of," he says quietly.

"Peeta, sit down," Prim says eagerly.

"Oh, right," Katniss admonishes herself again when she realizes she hasn't formally introduced Peeta to anyone, even if the entire table really kind of knows him already. "Peeta, you remember my sister, Prim. This is her boyfriend, Rory, and you remember Gale and Madge from school?"

Everyone exchanges small talk and Peeta congratulates Gale and Madge on their engagement and jokingly asks Madge how she's getting along with Gale's beast of a dog. Gale raises an eyebrow at Katniss, and she relates the story of walking Brutus past Peeta's house as Peeta playfully interjects that Katniss wasn't the one doing the walking.

"I think we'll be getting a nice little Pomeranian or a Pekingese or something," Prim giggles, draining the last of her third martini. Rory gives her an expectant look.

"What so I can accidentally trip over it? I was thinking a Mastiff," he jokes as Prim's eyes round in horror.

Katniss runs her finger idly around the rim of her own empty martini glass, though it's only her second, and as she sucks the dyed sugar off, she nearly bites down on the tip when she feels Peeta's palm on her bare knee. Her breath hitches and she steals a glance at him.

"Is this okay?" he whispers, and she nods slowly. What she'd really like is for his hand to wander about two feet higher and settle between her legs. Her belly swirls with heat as she can almost sense the ghost of his touch there. He smiles and takes a sip of his Guinness. "So you missed me today?" he teases gently. Her cheeks flame and she hopes the bar lights are tempered enough to hide her reaction.

"I was curious how your mediation went. I almost texted you the other night," she confesses. His grip on her knee tightens a little.

"It was canceled last minute," he says quietly. "I was not very happy on Wednesday morning when Plutarch called me."

"Why?"

He shrugs. "Plutarch only said it was the mediator who canceled and not Glimmer because that was my first inclination. There's no date rescheduled yet either," he adds, emptying the rest of his pint glass. "But I'm going to talk to Plutarch again tomorrow and get his opinion on possibly bypassing the whole thing. I know it's court-mandated and all, but nothing a mediator says is going to change my mind…or hers. She's just being a petty bitch, excuse my language." His face lights and he rubs her knee under the table. "But let's not ruin things by talking about Glimmer or legal bullshit. What did you wish for for your birthday?"

"Well for starters it's not my birthday yet." She smiles. "But to make a wish, you need a cake and candles."

His blue eyes catch the light and glitter mischievously. "I guess you'll just have to wait for your birthday then."

Katniss feels her sister's curious eyes on them and she gives Prim a quick look, and her sister lifts her blonde brows at Katniss in encouragement. Katniss shakes her head and resumes chatting with Peeta, and within a few minutes, Thresh joins them, having closed down Thirteen-12 at eleven. She hadn't realized it was already nearly midnight.

Gale and Madge and Prim and Rory all say good-bye just before twelve, and Katniss agrees to stay to have one more drink with Thresh and Johanna. She climbs out of the booth to hug everyone and accept more birthday wishes, thanking everyone for the drinks and food, and Prim lingers until her cell phone declares it's midnight and she can be the first to wish Katniss an official happy birthday.

As soon as the two couples have left, Johanna turns to Katniss and coughs. "So did you tell Peeta about your house hunting adventure on Sunday?" She shoots her friend a murderous glare since she can't flip her off in Peeta's presence.

Peeta studies Katniss carefully. "You went looking at houses?" he says with a broad smile. "That's great!"

"Just looking," she emphasizes hastily, cautioning Jo with her eyes to keep her friend from divulging more. Johanna hardly needs liquor to loosen her lips, but they definitely get looser when she's had a few.

"I need to get moving on that. As nice as it is to be waited on hand and foot and have my bed made every day and that little chocolate on the pillow each night, I miss my own space. And my own kitchen. The one in the suite isn't even close."

"Maybe Katniss will go with you since she's an expert now," Johanna leers, and Katniss sees Thresh place a hand on her arm to discourage her. She gives the handsome man a grateful smile and he winks at her.

"I think that's my cue to go," she declares, taking the last sip of her martini.

"Did you walk here?" Peeta asks quickly. She nods; the bar is only two blocks from her apartment. "I'll drop you off at your place. I don't want you walking alone."

"It's two blocks," she protests, masking her real thought that hell, yes, she wants him to drive her those meager two blocks. She knows he's probably still thinking about Cato, who has been an nonentity in recent days, but she never told Johanna about her ex's machinations and isn't about to open that Pandora's box now.

"I insist." He stands and offers his hand, and after thanking Johanna and Thresh—and Katniss ignoring the salacious hand gesture that Johanna makes behind Peeta's back—she follows him to his car.

It seems like she's barely fastened her seat belt before the car idles in front of her place, but when she meets Peeta's eyes in the scant light, she has to swallow to keep her cool.

"Happy birthday," he murmurs huskily, lifting her chin to brush his mouth over hers softly. "You'd better think of a few wishes. You might need them later today." She nods shakily and climbs out of the car. For such a whisper of kiss, her lips burn when she numbly waves good-bye as he pulls away and drives off.

She slides under her sheets a little while later and lets her imagination run wild with all the things she could potentially wish for.

Every single one of them involves Peeta Mellark.

* * *

_**Author's Notes: **_So...we have to wait to see what Glimmer has to say when the interview actually airs...and before that, we have the gala, which starts in Chapter 14. I hope to have that up without too long a delay among my other stories and my commitment to finishing my submissions for Fandom4LLS. Thank you to all of you who already donated...there is still time and you'll be rewarded with stories from many amazing authors.

If you haven't already, please check out the entries for Ro Nordmann's "Write Me a Story" Challenge (wmashgchallenge dot tumblr dot com)...I had the honor of being one of five judges and there are some wonderful little stories there. Ro deserves all the credit for a fabulous idea!

Thanks to ILoveRynMar and streetlightlove for their support and advice on this chapter and to Pookieh for just being awesome. Continued thanks to jeeno2 and fenderfreak81 for the legal advice that I refer to constantly as I plot through this story. And finally, thank you for the reviews and PMs that constantly make my day and fuel my creative fire.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Author's Note:** So this chapter and the next chapter were one originally...and then I decided I needed both their POVs for the gala, and so it got split in half. Chapter 15 is nearly done as well so there very well could be an update sooner than later as well. _

_Rest of notes to follow..._

* * *

**Friday, May 8****th**

_**(Peeta)**_

* * *

Peeta's alarm chirps loudly about five seconds before his phone does. He turns off the alarm and picks up his cell phone, a smile playing on his lips when he sees the screen.

_Katniss: hey you awake yet? want to humor me and join me for a run? _

He hesitates. But running is an entirely innocent activity that friends do together all the time, right? His face breaks into a grin and taps out his reply.

_Peeta: Wouldn't dream of denying the birthday girl anything. Be in front of your building in ten?_

_Katniss: ill be waiting. :)_

Dressing quickly in his running attire and lacing up his sneakers, he can't resist finger-combing his rumpled curls, brushing his teeth and spritzing on some cologne before jogging the mile to Katniss's apartment. If there is anything good about inhabiting a hotel, it's the proximity to her place. His condo development was on the other side of the city limits and a good fifteen-minute drive away.

He's worked up a mild sweat due to the humidity in the air—unusual for early May—by the time he approaches her apartment building, and she rises from the stoop with a smile on her face. Her toned stomach is bare to him thanks to the neon orange and purple sports bra she wears, and she fills out the tiny running shorts way too well. Her dark hair is gathered into a ponytail and her face is completely free of any makeup, and he's awestruck by her natural beauty as he slows to a stop in front of her.

"So you've got a head start on me?" She raises her brow at him. "Show-off."

"Good morning to you, too," he teases back. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks. Ready?" He nods and she does a few quick lunges to loosen up; his eyes rake over the supple muscles of her quads and the graceful curves of her calves as she does. Her movements are fluid and her body appears so limber that he starts to imagine how it would look writhing above him…or beneath him…or in front of him. He can't fucking wait to find out. But he shakes off the vision so his cock doesn't stiffen and become blatantly obvious in his baggy gym shorts.

"How far do you usually run?" he asks as they set off up the sidewalk, starting with a slow pace.

"I usually do a three-mile loop through the park and back." She quirks an eyebrow at him. "Why, you gonna tell me you usually do ten or something?"

"Five." He laughs modestly. "Three is just fine though. Lead the way." She purses her lips at him and there's a playful flicker in the wide silver pools as she does.

They jog in comfortable silence, and he finds himself watching the metronome motion of her swishing ponytail. It's nice to have someone to run with. He knows Katniss was already a runner, but he wonders if she's the kind of woman who would readily try something new if a guy asked her to. Glimmer never once showed any interest in his interests or hobbies, other than being relieved in the early days of their marriage that he had willingly shouldered the cooking responsibilities. And even then, she never exhibited any desire to learn alongside him. When he was younger, he had always envisioned teaching his future wife to cook, sharing his love for cuisine and baking with her.

He feels his anger start to rise as he thinks about the mediation being canceled and without realizing it, he's increased their pace and he can hear Katniss's breathing shift though she matches him stride for stride and utters no protest at the change in tempo. As he glances over at her, her face flushed and her forehead dappled with sweat, she gives him a confident smile.

God he wants this woman.

As they round a curve and cut through the park, a masculine voice calls, "Katniss!" Peeta turns and sees a well built blond man holding the leash of a black Labrador retriever walking towards them. Katniss sighs and pauses, jogging in place and pasting a smile on her face.

"Hey, Gloss."

The blond man stops and orders the dog to sit. Katniss leans down and pets the animal on its head, cooing at him softly. "How are you?"

"I'm good, you?" She straightens back up and places her hands on her hips.

"I haven't seen you in a few weeks."

She keeps the smile on her face. "I've been around."

The guy's eyes slide over to meet Peeta's, and he sees suspicion creep into them. He thrusts a hand out. "Gloss."

"Peeta."

"Gloss is my neighbor's grandson," Katniss explains. She lets her eyes linger on Peeta's and gives him a small smile. "Peeta is—"

"Your boss, I know. I read all about your winnings in the paper after my grandmother told me. Congratulations."

"Thanks. I was going to say that he's a good friend of mine, but yeah, he is my boss for now," she replies, patting the lab's head again as the dog laps at her hand. "And we should get going because he has a restaurant to open later this morning. Good to see you again, Gloss." She nods to Peeta and he follows her as she resumes jogging along the path, leaving the blond man and his dog behind.

Judging by the hastiness with which Katniss spoke to this Gloss, Peeta assumes there might be some history there. "Nice guy," he says carefully.

Katniss wrinkles her nose at him and shrugs her shoulders. "My neighbor, Mags, has been trying to set me up with him forever now. I met him for drinks one night last summer and…" She makes another face. "His favorite subject is himself. Nice enough, yeah, but not my type."

He laughs softly. "You have no idea the effect you can have, do you?"

She jostles him with her elbow good-naturedly. "Stop." He grins back at her and they continue running, though he sees a flush on her cheeks that he suspects might not be from exhaustion.

After another half-mile, Peeta recognizes the corner of Katniss's block and laments that their workout is coming to an end. As they approach her building, she slows to a walk and he follows her lead, watching her repeat her stretches as she bounces lightly in place. He can't resist darting a peek at her breasts, but the restrictive fabric of her sports bra prevents any movement in the soft mounds. He does, however, see the stiff peaks of her nipples pebbled against the Lycra, and he quickly diverts his leer before she notices him staring.

"So," he says, "what big plans do you have for your birthday since your amazing boss gave you the day off?"

She gives him a playful smile and reaches behind her, grabbing her foot, and extends it up towards the middle of her back, the delicate cords of her neck muscles straining when she grimaces slightly. "Well I have to go to Cinna's and get my dress for tomorrow night. But other than that, I really have no agenda. Maybe I'll go read in the park." She cranes her neck and scans the flawless tableau of blue above them. "It looks like it's going to be a gorgeous day."

"No dinner out or anything?"

"Oh, well, Prim and I will have dinner at Abernathy's. It's kind of a tradition," she admits sheepishly. "Not exactly a gourmet meal, but…"

"It sounds lovely," he assures her, clearing his throat. "I don't suppose I could persuade you to come by Thirteen-12 for lunch though?"

Her grey eyes widen and she automatically begins to play with her ponytail. "What?"

"Come by the restaurant. I'll make you lunch."

"Oh no, Peeta, I couldn't…you have to work."

"I think I can give myself a break for lunch, Katniss. Or do I have to remind you about my powers of persuasion?"

She blushes through the sheen of perspiration on her face, and she shifts her weight, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. "Do I have to remind you yet again about your apprehension being alone with me?" She releases her lip and purses her mouth at him. He sighs. His damn nobility is threatening to railroad his little surprise for her.

"We won't be alone," he reasons. "Finnick and Thresh will be there too, and I'm sure they'll both want to wish you a happy birthday."

She hesitates, gnawing on her lip again. "Okay," she acquiesces. "I'll stop by the restaurant after I get my gown."

He grins. "Perfect. I'll see you around noon, then?"

"Noon," she echoes, and his eyes follow her ass in the little shorts as she flashes him a smile over her shoulder and enters her building. The heated vision of her standing naked beneath the spray of her shower lingers with him the entire jog back to his hotel and through his own shower, though he stops short of jacking off.

When he gets to Thirteen-12, he unloads a large box from his backseat and slams the door with his foot. He manages to wedge in through the rear door, balancing the box on his knee as he does. Greeting his kitchen staff, he sets the box down and asks Jean-Carl what temperature the ovens are set to. His head chef points to one, and when Peeta hears '425,' he nods in affirmation and grabs three round cake pans from the pastry station.

He whistles softly as he pours the batter he prepared yesterday afternoon at Kieran and Cinna's place evenly among the greased and floured pans. Placing all three into the massive oven, he notes the time and grabs a few things from the walk-in refrigerator and begins to cream the butter.

"What are you doing?" Lavinia leans against the kitchen door, her jacket draped over her arm and her messenger bag on her shoulder.

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

The hostess smiles wryly. "I haven't seen you actually at work in the kitchen in a while."

"I miss it," he replies simply, gently adding some granulated sugar to the mixture.

"We had a call just as I was walking in for a party of 20 at 1 pm. I told them we'd do our best to have it ready at that time but Fridays are busy so they could have a short wait."

"Good, thanks."

She disappears into the small office to put her things away and breezes past him a few moments later, glancing into the bowl with a curious expression on her face. He continues beating the icing, rotating the bowl methodically and once he's satisfied, he sets it aside and chops some pecans.

Finnick arrives a short time later and shakes his head at Peeta when he sees him taking the cake pans out of the oven to cool on the rack. "You're so far gone with this one already," he teases.

"Everyone deserves a birthday cake," Peeta replies, sliding off the oven mitt and leaning against the prep station. "And thanks to my overly chatty nephew, I know exactly what kind of cake Katniss likes."

Finnick grins and lets out a low chuckle. "For once Trystyn's motor mouth works in your favor, huh?"

"I made her lunch too. When she went to the ladies' room last night at the bar, I got her sister to tell me that Katniss's favorite thing is this lamb stew that her father used to make when she was little. Prim emailed me the recipe this morning, and though it really should simmer longer than a few hours, I'll take a couple of shortcuts and pray it's as good as she remembers."

"I've missed you, buddy," Finnick marvels. "This is the Peeta that I remember—the one before Glimmer sucked the marrow out of your bones and left you an empty shell of misery."

"Finn, fuck. A little dramatic, are we?"

"Welcome back, Peet." He winks. "Remind me to thank Katniss later."

* * *

Finnick is actually the first to envelop Katniss in a hug and wish her a happy birthday when she appears in the doorway of their office just before noon. Peeta glances up from his desk, closes the browser where he was examining the proofs of the new menu inserts that their graphic designer had sent yesterday, and stands to greet Katniss with a hug of his own.

"Happy birthday again," he murmurs in her ear as he holds her against him.

"Thank you again," she replies with a smile, their eyes lingering on each other until Finnick coughs loudly and Katniss springs back guiltily.

"Have a seat." Peeta motions to the table where they've shared a meal before and Finnick gives him a conspiratorial grin and backs out of the office. "Everything go okay at Cinna's?" He holds the chair for her and she slides in, smoothing down the simple jersey dress that she wears.

"Thanks. Um, yes. Everything is good. The gown is perfect."

"I can't wait to see it on you tomorrow," he says softly, though he thinks how much nicer it might be to see it _off_ of her. She smiles shyly and fiddles with the napkin on the table. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

He ladles the stew into two bowls and grabs a fresh loaf of bread from the warmer and as he re-enters his office, he studies her carefully from the doorway. Before he can tell her to close her eyes, she must sense him watching her because she turns and smiles at him. He returns the smile and places the bowls on the table, his mouth stretching into a wider grin as her sight settles on the bowl and she takes a deep breath and recognition fills the grey irises. "Oh my god, Peeta…is this…?" Her hand flutters up to cover her mouth, and he swears he sees a glistening at the corners of her eyes. "It is, isn't it?" She inhales again and withdraws her palm. "How did you know?"

He sits down across from her and begins to slice into the bread. "I have my ways." He offers her a piece of bread, and she accepts it and drags it through the stew, wiping it against the side of the bowl before chewing it carefully. Her eyes slip closed and she moans audibly, and he can't help but want to hear that sound leave her lips every day for the rest of his life.

"Well?" he asks hopefully. She licks her lips and sighs contentedly.

"I haven't had this in years, Peeta," she says. "It's perfect. You got it perfect….how did you even get the plums right?" She picks up the spoon and takes a mouthful, her lips curving over the spoon. She swallows and swirls the spoon through the stew again. "This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me." She pauses and laughs. "Well after splitting a lottery ticket with me."

"I'm glad." He blows across his stew and takes a tentative bite, surprised at how good it actually is. He's never been particularly fond of lamb, but the meat is tender and the flavors complement it well.

Katniss downs her stew in just a few minutes, and she blushes when she realizes he's only halfway done. "I'm sorry," she groans. "I was hungry…and it was really, really good, Peeta."

"Never ever apologize to a restaurateur for enjoying a meal," he scolds. "I can get you more."

"I shouldn't." She pauses and laughs softly. "Okay." He grins and grabs her bowl and returns in a minute with a full second helping. She thanks him and digs in again. It's such a stroke to his ego to see her enjoying something he made; he could definitely get used to cooking for her.

"So are you going to tell me how you did this, Chef Mellark?" She sucks on the spoon and licks the underside of it, and he shifts in his seat at the dirty thoughts running rampant through over-active imagination.

"Your sister," he confesses, breaking off a chunk of bread. "She told me and wrote down the ingredients she remembered. I did an Internet search, and it helped me improvise."

"You're a magician, then. Or a psychic or something. This is just as I remembered it being when my dad made it." She lowers her eyes and swallows. "Thank you, Peeta."

"Oh, I'm not done yet," he says.

There's a knock at the door and Thresh sticks his head in. "Hey, guys, sorry to interrupt. Just wanted to say hi to the birthday girl."

She wipes her mouth and sets down her napkin and rises to give Thresh a hug. Peeta jumps from his seat. "Wait here," he orders again, and he leaves Katniss with Thresh and goes to retrieve the cake he finished just moments before she arrived. He leans out into the dining room, signals for Finnick and the copper-haired man politely excuses himself from a table and joins Peeta in the kitchen. Peeta pulls a single candle from his breast pocket and positions it in the center of the cake.

"No icing message?" Finnick jokes. Peeta gives him a look.

He can't suppress his grin when they push open the office door and Katniss sees the cake.

"Peeta…" she starts, but shakes her head in disbelief as her cheeks stain a soft pink. "Thank you."

He grins and sets the carrot cake down, and he, Finnick and Thresh serenade her with "Happy Birthday" before she blows out the candle and smiles shyly at the three of them.

"Thanks," she begins, wringing her hands in front of her. "You guys really know how to make a girl feel like she belongs. Working here…being so nice to me…"

"You fit right in," Finnick replies. "And it's been a lot….happier around here since you started working here so we can thank you right back." Peeta catches his best friend's eye and they exchange a knowing nod.

Finnick and Thresh both wish her a happy birthday again and the door closes behind them. Peeta plucks the candle from the cake. "I hope you made a good wish."

"They don't come true if you tell anyone what you wished for," she says coyly, dragging her finger along the discarded candle. She brings the digit to her mouth and sucks off the icing, and another one of those delicious moans escapes. "God that is good." She looks over at him. "Sorry. I couldn't help myself."

He laughs. "I'll cut you a slice and then you can have plenty of frosting."

She places her hand over his as he reaches for one of the knives and takes a tentative step towards him. "Thank you," she whispers. "This is already the best birthday I've had in years. You're an incredible person, you know that?"

It would be so easy—so easy to lean down and close the small distance between them and claim her lips as his. He is confident she would respond readily, and his body is screaming at him to do something—_anything_—to alleviate the simmering sexual tension between them. But they've danced around that in this office once already, and with his staff right outside the door, he pushes down the impulse and smiles down at her, reaching for her hands and bringing them up to his mouth to brush his lips gently against her knuckles.

"I'm glad I could put that beautiful smile on your face." He motions to the cake. "Let's finish eating, okay?" He cuts two slices of cake and offers one to her. She takes a bite and closes her eyes.

She opens her eyes and licks her lips. "Mmm. So you really were listening when your nephew was talking about birthday cakes, huh?"

"I always listen when it concerns you, Katniss. I have for years."

"I wish I had noticed sooner," she confesses, her eyes shining.

He coughs. "You're not, ah, supposed to tell me what you wished for."

Her mouth curves up ever so slightly. "Oh, that wasn't my wish." She pulls the bite of cake off her fork and chews thoughtfully.

While she eats her cake, they chat a little more about tomorrow evening, and Katniss tells him as much as she'd like a second piece of the cake, she does have the dinner with her uncle and sister later and should have some appetite left. He offers to box up the rest of the cake for her, but she declines and tells him to share it with the rest of the staff.

"So, then I'll see you tomorrow night at the hotel then? Seven o'clock?" he asks as he walks her to the office door.

She nods. "I'm really looking forward to it."

"Me too." He smiles down at her and when he studies her more carefully, he tilts his head and reaches out to rub his thumb cautiously at the corner of her mouth. She emits a tiny gasp, and he shows her the pad of his thumb. "You had a little frosting there."

Her tongue slips out to lick along her bottom lip and her thumb swipes where his thumb just was. "Thanks." And then quickly she rises on her toes and her lips ghost across his left cheek. "See you tomorrow."

Finnick sticks his head around the corner and steps out from the other office. "Birthday girl gone? Is it safe to come in here now, or does our office reek of sex?"

"Finn, come on." He shakes his head incredulously. "You're incorrigible."

"That's what my third grade teacher told my mother," Finnick replies gleefully. "And everyone deserves birthday sex."

Peeta rolls his eyes, though he recalls that yes, the last time he had actually had sex was on his birthday when Glimmer had less-than-enthusiastically fucked him after she had taken him to dinner.

Finnick isn't placated by the explanation that he and Katniss must still walk a fine line with the mediation on hold and the lawsuit against Katniss awaiting a hearing. Peeta endures a healthy third-degree and some suggestive innuendo from his best friend as he devours two slices of the carrot cake. Once Finn finishes eating and heads back onto the floor, Peeta closes the door to their office and makes two phone calls.

The first is to Cinna, and his brother-in-law picks up his cell phone on the second ring.

"You're not calling the shop?"

"Figured you'd be finishing up lunch," Peeta explains. "I can call back if it helps."

"It's okay. I just haven't stopped for lunch today. The salon has been busier than I've been in weeks. Seems like quite a few ladies need dresses for tomorrow's big food gala. My off-the-rack stuff is disappearing today, not to mention the gowns that were done by appointment."

"Well that's great for business, no?"

"Indeed it is." Peeta can hear the restrained smile in Cinna's voice. "So your lovely friend is all set for tomorrow, if that's why you're calling."

Peeta chuckles. "Am I that transparent?"

"Not in a bad way," Cinna says kindly. "I like her very much. I can see why you do as well."

"I do. I really do," he admits. "I've liked her for years, Cinna."

"Things happen for a reason, Peeta."

He remains quiet for a moment and then he thanks Cinna again for all his generosity with Katniss, and when Cinna quietly speaks up that Kieran is dying to meet his little brother's new 'lady friend'—Kieran's exact words, Cinna laughs—Peeta promises that he will find a time for the four of them to have dinner.

After he hangs up with Cinna, he punches in Plutarch Heavensbee's number and then waits patiently when Cecelia places him on hold. He listens to the cheesy saxophone music, but Cecelia is back within moments. "I'm sorry, Peeta. He's not answering. He must not have come back in from court yet. He had a hearing this morning."

"That's alright, I guess. I was just calling to see if he had any additional information on my mediation being rescheduled or if there was even way to get around it and avoid it altogether."

Cecelia apologizes that she has nothing to report and tells Peeta she will give Plutarch the message that he called. The lawyer should get back to him soon.

He thanks Cecelia and hangs up, slightly dejected, but when his eyes land on the remnants of the carrot cake, his smile returns. Mediation or no mediation, he's going to enjoy his time with Katniss tomorrow.

* * *

The limousine pulls up to the Ritz-Carlton ten minutes before seven, and Peeta is not surprised to see the area in front of the hotel already swarming with cars and people. He thanks the driver, tips the man, and as he steps out of the limo, he sees Katniss's coupe stop in front of the valet. She extricates herself from the driver's seat, exchanging her keys for a stub from the attendant, giving the man a polite smile. As she turns and walks towards the hotel entrance, she finally sees him standing there, and her smile widens.

The vision before him steals the breath from his lungs. She is completely radiant, and Cinna was right—the dress was made for her. The top of the gown is his favorite color, a soft orange that resembles the setting sun, and it complements her olive skin, her complexion glowing. Her makeup is subdued and natural and her long dark hair is gathered and twisted into a complicated knot at the nape of her neck, loose tendrils framing her face.

She stops before him. "Hi."

"Hi," he echoes. "My god, Katniss. You're…you look incredible. You're so beautiful."

"You too." She blushes and looks down at her feet. "I mean you look great too. Very dashing."

"Dashing?" he supplies, amused. "Who am I, James Bond?"

Her blush deepens, crimson coloring her cheeks, but she quips back, "Depends if you're taking your martinis shaken or stirred this evening."

"I'm not a martini guy at all," he jokes. "And my Aston Martin is in the shop. Shall we?" He proffers his arm to her and she links her right hand around to rest on the crook of his elbow. He can smell the subtle notes of her perfume and a faint scent of what has to be the hairspray holding her hair in place.

The Ritz-Carlton is even more sumptuous than the Hyatt where Peeta is staying. Large marble columns dominate the spacious lobby, rising to the ceiling majestically. Several large couches of varying hues of burgundy and deep orange are arranged in an incomplete circle, flanked on each side by small mahogany tables. Stout vases are placed sporadically throughout the space, all bearing bright yellow spray roses, with clementines and lemons filling the bases of the clear glasses.

"This is gorgeous," Katniss says, her grey eyes wide as she gazes around the lobby.

He stares down at her and winks. "I couldn't agree more." She averts her eyes and shakes her head at him. "Come on. The grand ballroom is this way, and if you think this is breathtaking, wait til you see _it_."

She clutches at his arm, and he resists the urge to wrap his arm possessively around her waist as he squires her up the staircase and leads her to the ballroom. He can't suppress his grin at the awed expression on Katniss's face as they enter the room.

"Oh my…" She shakes her head and doesn't finish her thought as her eyes scan the ballroom.

Having attended last year's gala, even Peeta has to admit the organizers of the charity event have outdone themselves this year. The spirited notes of a piano rise above the rest of the ten-piece band that is assembled directly in front of the massive dance floor. Several well-dressed couples already sway to an old Sinatra tune. The perimeter of the ballroom is lined with rectangular tables that display the names of the restaurants sampling cuisine tonight, and in the front right corner, a large circular table displays the items up for bid in the silent auction.

Peeta had to stop by the hotel yesterday to give his final approval on Thirteen-12's tasting station, and while he was there he had needled one of the event organizers into ensuring the table where he and Katniss and Finnick and the others would be seated was as far away from Coriolanus and Clove Snow as humanly possible. He had been correct in his deduction that Clove's wealthy husband had donated generously and would be in attendance. He didn't feel like having Clove's cold, prying eyes on him all night; he suspects she'll be making every effort to spy on him on Glimmer's behalf.

He steers Katniss to their table and again, she gapes at the place settings and floral arrangements. "This is fancier than anything I've ever been to. I so don't belong here," she says quietly, and he gives her an admonishing look.

"Stop that. Right now. You're here and you belong here."

A pair of clapping hands grabs both their attentions. "Point me to the bar. I've still got a built-in designated driver!" Peeta and Katniss turn, and Finnick's wide grin greets them, Annie at his side.

"He's incorrigible," Annie sighs, shaking her head. Peeta laughs, having used the same term just yesterday, and he smiles at his best friend's wife, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "Hi, Peeta."

"Annie, you look beautiful. This is Katniss."

Annie reaches out and warmly shakes Katniss's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard such nice things about you."

"Me too," Katniss replies. "I mean, I hear nice things about you—and your little guy. God, there's no way you had a baby a few weeks ago. You look amazing."

Annie glances down at her satiny red gown, which clings to her soft curves in a flattering silhouette. She grins up at Finnick, who places a kiss on her forehead and she elbows Peeta gently, murmuring through her teeth, "I like her already." Peeta feels a grin of his own lift his lips.

Jean-Carl and his fiancée, Enobaria, soon arrive, and Thresh and Johanna follow them by just a few minutes. The abrasive brunette leans over and whispers something to Katniss, who flushes a deep scarlet and lightly smacks her friend across the crook of her elbow. Johanna's smile is wicked and when Peeta raises an eyebrow at her, Thresh's girlfriend feigns innocence and the smile softens.

"What can I get you to drink?" Peeta murmurs in Katniss's ear, taking a sharp breath to inhale her perfume again. She gestures to a server bearing a large tray of champagne flutes.

"That should do for now," she demurs, and when the man approaches, Peeta takes two flutes and graciously thanks him. Annie takes one too and sips it carefully.

"This is the only thing I'll be able to indulge in. I can't have too much alcohol in my bloodstream while I'm nursing. It's why he—" She motions to her husband. "—thinks he has carte blanche tonight."

"Is he sleeping through the night yet?" Katniss asks, and Peeta is pleased when Katniss and Annie begin a quiet conversation about little Nick. His happiness at hearing the two women start bonding is temporarily derailed, however, when he glances over to the entrance of the ballroom and he spies Clove and her husband arriving.

The sight of Coriolanus Snow has always unnerved Peeta. The much older man certainly has a distinguished air about him, but there is something sinister about his icy blue eyes and the calculating sneer that always seems to play on his puffy lips. He's wealthy, powerful and from what Peeta has heard, a cutthroat businessman, though exactly what he does, Peeta cannot say.

Clove's menacing eyes search out his, and even dressed so beautifully and perfectly made up, she manages to look ugly. Her red matte lips curl into a twisted smile, and when she turns, Peeta has to choke back a gasp at who stands behind her.

Glimmer looks stunning in a blue, Grecian-style column gown, her ample cleavage swelling over the neckline. But like Clove, her eyes are cold and the smirk on her beautiful face sends a chill racing through him. She continues staring directly at Peeta as she places her hand on the forearm of a tall dark-haired man in an expensive-looking tuxedo. Peeta frowns, trying to place the guy, but it's to no avail.

"Fucking hell, is that…?" Finnick exhales noisily and takes a long swig of the Stella he had gone to the bar to get.

Peeta grimaces and swallows the rest of his champagne, nodding unhappily, and his stomach twists when Katniss notices Glimmer standing in the entryway.

Finnick swears again. "What's she doing here?"

"Don't know, Finn." Peeta sighs. "But I'm sure no good can come of this." A different server walks by with another full tray of champagne, and he snags another.

"That's your wife?" Johanna says, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Are those things real?"

"Johanna!" Katniss hisses, sighing loudly. Peeta sips the champagne and shakes his head absently.

"Ex-wife. No, they're not." He glances at Katniss nervously; the subject of Glimmer's anatomy is not a discussion he wants to have in front of her. "And I was not in favor of them, let's just leave it at that." Katniss fidgets beside him, and he hates that the evening has taken a potentially sour turn with the ominous presence of Glimmer and her entourage. He needs to put that light back into Katniss's lovely silver eyes.

"Dance with me," he commands softly and she hesitates at first.

"What about—?"

"Don't worry about her. Pretend she's not here." Pressing her lips together, she holds out her hand, offering no further protest as he leads her on to the gleaming hardwood dance floor, lacing the fingers of her right hand through his left, his other hand seeking purchase on the small of her back. Her left hand rests on his shoulder and fluidly they begin to sway and step together. "Pretend it's just you and me, okay?"

"That's not hard to do," she whispers.

He smiles down at her and fights the urge to tilt her chin up and ravage those glossy lips right here. "Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?" he teases gently, and she ducks her head shyly.

"Yeah, yeah you did. But a girl never gets tired of hearing it."

"Cinna really outdid himself."

"Yes, he did."

"Did you know that orange is my favorite color?"

She glances up, grey eyes gleaming in the sparkling light from the many chandeliers adorning the ceiling. "Really?" She shakes her head in amusement. "I thought he was being kind of secretive when I tried this on, and he made a comment about how he should have thought of this dress first."

"Oh? This wasn't the first dress you tried on?"

She laughs. "No. It was kind of a process. And Johanna and Madge had totally differing opinions on what they thought I should go with."

"I'm kind of curious as to what Johanna would have put you in," he says slyly.

"You don't want to know. People might have thought you hired an escort if I wore the dress she liked best."

"Hookers are never as beautiful as you are."

Her head tilts back in laughter. "Oh my god, that's supposed to be a compliment, right?" She chuckles softly. "Or should I be concerned that you know what hookers generally look like?"

"I swear to you that I've never once seen a hooker up close."

She laughs again and as he inconspicuously tightens his hold on her, the band changes its tempo and begins to play a more upbeat tune. Reluctantly, he releases her and holds her hands as he nods towards the tables. "Should we go sample the fare?"

"You should know by now that I never turn down food," she laughs. "Of course. I'm starving."

They swing by their assigned table, and Finnick and Annie join them as they meander along the incredible spread of appetizers, salads, soups and main courses set out for their sampling. Peeta tries his best to point out some of the better offerings, and Katniss seems mildly embarrassed when she has to ask him what a few of the dishes are.

"I don't exactly eat _haute cuisine_," she whispers as he sets an herb-crusted, bacon-wrapped scallop on her plate and one on his own. "P.F. Changs is about as exotic as I get."

"You know the word _haute cuisine_. That's a start," he replies with a smile. After Katniss nearly drops a shrimp trying to balance it precariously on the edge of her brimming plate, Peeta laughs gently. "Let's go eat and then we can make another pass in a bit."

The conversation flows easily around their table; Peeta is happy to see Katniss chatting so freely with Annie and Enobaria. She catches him watching her a few times and gives him little smiles each time.

He feels Glimmer's icy gaze on him from across the room once or twice as well, but he refuses to give her the satisfaction of meeting her eyes, so he continues talking with Thresh and ignoring her.

When Peeta has accompanied Katniss and Johanna on their return trip through the food spread and Annie and Finnick get up to go peruse the silent auction, Peeta leans over and whispers, "Can I persuade you to dance with me again?"

Katniss lifts her napkin to her mouth and nods as he pulls out her chair and guides her back to the crowded ballroom floor. She comfortably resettles in his embrace and for a while, they dance in silence. There are so many little intimate things he could be doing to her, like nuzzling her neck or letting his hand roam the bare expanse of her back, but he keeps things chaste and just revels in the warmth of her in his arms.

"I'd like to dance with my husband."

Katniss stiffens in his arms as they both turn to see Glimmer's red lips twisted into a cruel smile and her eyes fixed on Peeta's. Katniss disentangles herself from his grip before he can protest and tell Glimmer she can wait her turn.

"I'll…I'm…I'm going to go get a drink from the bar," Katniss supplies quietly. "Did you want something?"

"Get me a beer, please. You pick." He reaches for her hand and squeezes it gently. "Thanks." When she slips past a pair of dancing couples, he faces Glimmer, who holds out her hand facetiously. He threads their fingers together and hesitantly places a hand on the small of her back.

"Your little whore cleans up nicely."

"What do you want, Glimmer?"

"Just a dance, Peeta. Relax. God, you're so fucking snippy lately."

"Maybe that's because I don't trust you," he says bluntly. Her blue eyes glitter and she purses her full lips at him.

"That's not very nice."

"It's true," he replies, and he glances down when her fingers begin to play with the lapel on his tuxedo jacket.

"Aren't you going to ask about who I'm here with?" She smiles at him coyly.

"Nope. Don't care," he replies curtly. "But I know you're up to something, Glim."

"Shame that the mediation was canceled, wasn't it?"

He instinctively tightens his hold on her, but not in an affectionate way; the hand on her back fists the fabric. "Postponed isn't the same thing as canceled."

She drags her finger further up the lapel and toys with the collar of his dress shirt. "It might as well be canceled."

"Glimmer, I'm not going to change my mind about ending this marriage. It's too late, I told you that."

She scoffs and tosses her head, clucking her tongue. "I'm not upset that this marriage is ending." She smirks again when his eyes widen imperceptibly. "You see, Peeta, you were a supposed to be a starter marriage for me." He stares at her aghast, and she nods carefully. "I'll confess that I never expected you to be as successful as you are and of course the lottery threw a wrench in things…"

"You're fucking unbelievable," he hisses, her admission like a hot blade through his heart. "How could I have been so wrong about you?"

She ignores his remark. "But you see, when you decided to pull the trigger on a divorce first, that wasn't in my plan. You've humiliated me by sneaking around with that little piece of trash you've had a fucking crush on since before you could even _get _a hard-on for her. Your mother told me all about your unrequited love for Katniss Everdeen."

He pushes her away and steps back, his heart racing from his rising temper and the rush of adrenaline gushing through his veins. "Enough," he growls. "Katniss has more class in her little finger than you have in that entire fake body of yours." He draws in a long breath to steady himself. "I think we're done here, Glimmer."

"Oh we're done, Peeta," she snarls, her lip curling maliciously. "But I'm not going to make this easy on you. See you in court." She spins on her stilettoed heel and he watches her wind through the crowd, a wave of uneasiness cresting in his stomach.

_To be continued..._

* * *

**_A/N-_**_This chapter is dedicated to one of my loveliest and most loyal readers, Tashay789, in honor of her bday. Kind of worked that Katniss's bday celebration framed this chapter, no? Hope your day is a great one. _

_Many thanks to my trio of soul sisters: ILoveRynMar (who just celebrated her bday too and might have been gifted with a very smutty one shot that I posted Friday), streetlightlove (who might have just won Ro's contest and posted her winning story, Holes in Concrete, so go read it), and Pookieh (who definitely has provided more smiles and laughs to me in the last week as we've __pre read and discussed hot country men wearing aviator glasses). I love you gals. Thank you to fenderfreak81 for answering my stupid questions with such patience (though your advice got moved to Chapter 16 and 17, buddy...your CMP update is coming, promise!) and jeeno2 for her legal advice._

_The Fandom4LLS closes this Thursday so if you have not yet donated, what are you waiting for? There are tons of talented authors contributing, including a Rebel outtake from HGRomance! My one shot got out of control (stop laughing) and so instead I am submitting sneak peeks from both my next historic AUs and if the stories wind up half as good as the amazing banners Ro made me...gah! _

_Finally...to all the wonderful readers who keep asking me about One by One...yes, I'm working on it! And as part of Baroness Kika's "15 Days to Finish Your Fic" Challenge, I will be devoting most of my time to it over the next two weeks. I still maintain that it won't update until most of it is written, but that could indeed be the case sooner than later. Thank you for the love you've shown it. _


	15. Chapter 15

**_Author's__ Note-_**_So this is the start of what most of you have been waiting for. I'll save any other notes til the end and just say that this chapter is fully deserving of the "M" rating. __  
_

_Onto the rest of the gala..._

* * *

**Saturday, May 9****th**

_**(Katniss)**_

Katniss freezes with the spoon halfway to her mouth when Peeta returns to the table, his blue eyes stormier than she can recall ever seeing them and an agitated expression marring his handsome face. She rests the utensil against the side of the _pot au chocolat _she had been sampling and gives him a hesitant smile. As he slumps into his seat, she slides the bottle of Stella towards him. "The bartender said it's the best beer they carry tonight."

His eyes instantly soften and he reaches over and covers her hand with his. "Thanks."

She also slides the plate full of pastries and fruit halfway between them and gestures to it. "I, um, got dessert while you were dancing. They have crème brûlée too, but I ate that first," she admits. She's always had a weakness for the creamy custard.

He picks up a small tart of exotic fruits and pops it in his mouth. She watches expectantly as he chews.

"Everything okay?"

His fingers play with the label on his beer, and he nods absently. "Yeah."

He doesn't sound okay, and her brows knit with worry when he continues staring at the bottle in contemplative silence. She finishes off her champagne, gently takes his beer bottle from his hands and curls her fingers over his. "Come. Let's go dance again."

Peeta glances up at her, and she yanks firmly to coax him out of his seat. She casts a dark glance in the direction of Glimmer's table and when they reach the dance floor, Katniss steps into his arms, and he clasps his hands together just above her ass. She sways her hips sinuously, more suggestively than before, emboldening him to move with her, and there's a hint of smoldering in Peeta's calm blue eyes.

"You don't want to talk about it, I suppose?" she asks softly, playing with the lapel on his tuxedo jacket. He glances down at her fingers, brows knit, and she frowns and stops her ministrations immediately, steadying her hand on his shoulder instead. She feels like something has suddenly shifted since Glimmer cut in on them.

"I'd rather not," he replies, his fingers splaying downward to the start of the curve of her rear end. "I hope that's okay."

"Of course. It's none of my business."

His other hand moves to her hip and he clutches her tightly. "That's not why I don't want to talk about it, Katniss. I have nothing to hide from you. I just don't want to ruin any time I have with you talking about her."

"Fair enough." She lays her head instinctively against his shoulder and then springs back up. Shit. "I'm sorry, that's…"

"I don't mind," he murmurs huskily. "It's fine with me if you want to do that."

She sighs contentedly as she nestles against his chest, his hand still caressing her lower back. His heart thumps steadily beneath her ear, a sharp contrast to her own, which is hammering out a rapid tattoo. They dance for two songs before Peeta exhales. "I need to use the restroom." He glances at their table and his eyes lift. "Finnick is alone. Maybe he'll fill in for me for a bit." Peeta gestures to him, and Finnick drains the rest of his beer and ambles towards them. "Keep Katniss company?"

"With pleasure." He bows in exaggeration. "Annie went to pump. She'll be gone for a little bit."

Katniss steps into Finnick's arms, and he begins to lead her around the dance floor. As with everything else, Finnick seems to have a natural, easy ability to move gracefully. They talk quietly, Finnick explaining to her about the baby's nursing schedule, and Katniss grimaces, unable to empathize with the pain that Annie was evidently experiencing as Nick's usual feeding time had come and gone.

Then Finnick clears his throat. "He's okay, right?"

She knows he isn't referring to his infant son who's at home, so she shrugs and gives Finnick a meek smile. "He said he didn't want to talk about it. I'll respect that."

"She's such a bitch," Finnick spits in disgust, his eyes flitting to where Glimmer has moved onto the dance floor with the tall, dark-haired man. "God I can't wait til those papers are signed and sealed."

"That makes two of us," she whispers, and Finnick grins amiably.

"I meant what I said yesterday at the restaurant, Katniss," he begins. "Peeta has been a helluva lot happier in the last few weeks than I've seen him in a long time. And I think the lottery win has very little to do with that." When she remains quiet, he continues. "Just make a move already. He won't resist." He cuts his eyes at Glimmer again. "And if you're scared of her, don't be. Eventually every rabid dog has to be put down." He slides his hand up her arm and squeezes it affectionately.

Katniss continues to follow Finnick's lead, his words taking her back to last night's dinner with her uncle and sister at Abernathy's. Without being as forward as Finnick, they had each effectively prodded Katniss to pursue something with Peeta in their own way.

Prim, who had needled Katniss for the better part of a half hour relating how sweet Peeta had been at the bar and how cute he was when he covertly asked her about the lamb stew, flat out told her to call him that moment and invite him over for a late night birthday drink. Though she stopped short of alluding to anything beyond that, the mischievous spark in Prim's blue eyes hinted at another agenda.

Haymitch had been a little more reserved, a decisive change for her irascible uncle. From the tone of his voice and his surprisingly effusive praise of Peeta, he gently reminded Katniss that she is just as worthy as anyone else of being loved and then gruffly told her he liked seeing that smile on her face. It was as much of a blessing as she knew she'd get from the man.

She sees Peeta reenter the ballroom and stop by the bar, grabbing another beer before he sits down at their table. She meets his eyes and he gives her a subtle shake of the head, indicating that she should finish the dance with Finnick. He then turns to his left and begins chatting with Thresh and Johanna, who are sharing some kind of cobbler and looking very intimate while doing so. Katniss smiles. It's about time Johanna had a good guy in her life. Finnick's profession about Peeta also applies to her friend. Johanna is practically beaming lately.

Finnick wheels her around and inadvertently positions her so that she has a direct view of Peeta and can ogle him without even being obvious about it. Her stomach ripples as she studies his handsome countenance; he's so effortlessly sexy that it would be maddening if it weren't so attractive. His eyes flicker to hers every so often as he converses with Johanna and Thresh, flashing her private smiles when their gazes collide, and eventually Annie returns to the table, having returned her pump and the cooler for the baby's milk to their car.

When her dance with Finnick ends, he heads to the bar and Katniss shamelessly makes another pass through the dessert stations and Peeta gives her an appreciative grin when she slides into her seat and digs into some kind of caramelized Bananas Foster.

"Have I told you how sexy it is when a woman actually enjoys her food?" he whispers. She ducks her head at the bold admission and digs her fork back into the concoction.

"I don't even like bananas," she quips. "But this looked too good to pass up." She hesitates. "Did you want a bite?" She resists raising her own fork to his mouth so he can sample it; that would definitely be overstepping her bounds, in spite of everyone's encouragement to 'make a move.'

"I'll stick with my beer, thanks. I'll have to run it off tomorrow, but it's going down way too easily tonight."

After polishing off the rest of the dessert, she excuses herself to use the ladies' room. She's just washing her hands and perusing the collection of expensive looking perfumes and hand soaps in the lounge outside the stalls when the door opens and Glimmer walks in. Her arctic blue eyes rake up and down Katniss's body.

"I'd recognize one of Peeta's brother-in-law's dresses anywhere. Your gown is lovely." Her eyes glint and her red lips curve into a cruel smile. "But Cinna has always been a sucker for charity cases, hmm?"

Katniss presses her lips together and finishes rinsing the soap of her hands, and as she looks for a paper towel dispenser or hand dryer. An attendant standing nearby passes Katniss a clean towel. Her face must register surprise because Glimmer smirks at her. "You must not get out much. At least not to places where there aren't just condom and tampon dispensers in the restrooms," she adds nastily.

She sucks in a breath and remains quiet, trying to ignore Glimmer's acidic barb. Reaching into her clutch, she touches up her lip gloss and avoids Glimmer's eyes in the mirror. Finally, when the blonde hasn't moved, Katniss looks up and glares at her. "Did you want something?"

"You'll have to excuse her," Glimmer says to the attendant, a kindly looking older woman who is clearly uncomfortable by the whole situation. "She has no idea she's supposed to tip you."

Katniss's stomach dips and she's embarrassed that Peeta's ex is correct. She would have never known the attendant expected a tip for her service. "I'm so sorry," Katniss apologizes, rummaging in her clutch for the dollar bills she had stashed there, thankfully, to tip the valet. She extracts two and hands them to the woman, hoping Glimmer can't discern the slight tremble in her arm. And then before the icy blonde can utter another word, Katniss closes her clutch and slips out of the restroom, her heart thumping erratically.

She hates it when someone can get under her skin as easily as Glimmer did. She has long prided herself on staying cool in situations; she dealt with mean girls in high school by not letting them see how their cruel taunts affected her. She lifts her chin and walks back to the table confidently, not wanting to further exacerbate Peeta's mood by recounting her run-in with his ex-wife.

Peeta's face stretches into a wide smile as she takes her seat beside him. She returns the smile with some effort and says, "That was definitely the nicest bathroom I've ever been in," she says.

"No shit, right?" Johanna interjects. "I've gone three times just to use that eucalyptus lotion on my hands. "Smell." She thrusts her arm under Katniss's nose.

"I must have missed that," she muses, shoving her friend's hand away.

"I got you coffee," Peeta says, motioning to the cup above her plate.

"Thank you." When she reaches for the creamer, he places his hand over hers.

"A little milk and three sugars. Good?" He smiles. "It's not a latte, but that should make it sweeter."

"It's perfect, thanks."

* * *

The gala starts to wind down a little after eleven; once the silent auction ends, people start to filter out. Jean-Luc and his fiancée leave, followed by Finnick and Annie, and eventually Peeta and Katniss follow Thresh and Johanna outside and bid goodbye when they climb into their limousine.

"You sure we can't just drop you off at your hotel, man?" Thresh leans back out. Peeta glances at Katniss, who hides a smile. They can both see Johanna's pinched face, which clearly does not hide her desire to be alone with Thresh and her not-so-discreet visual warning that Peeta had better not accept Thresh's kind offer.

"I'm good. The car service that dropped me off is waiting for my call. Have fun guys," he adds with a wink, and Thresh waves and closes the door.

Katniss laughs. "I hope Johanna stays awake. She's pretty wasted and you'd think a girl like her would be a loud, showy drunk. Nope, she tends to pass right out."

"You know you could have imbibed a little more yourself if you'd listened to Johanna and me and not driven your car."

"The few glasses of champagne were more than enough, Peeta," she replies. "Between the bar the other night and my uncle's place last night, I've drunk more in the past three days than I probably have in a month."

"And you're okay to drive yourself?" he asks.

She nods. "In fact, I could drive you home," she teases, producing the valet stub from her clutch and waving it under his nose. Then she catches herself. "Or, um, I can drive you to your hotel."

He grabs the ticket, his fingers brushing her wrist as he playfully wrestles it away from her. "It's home for now. But I've got the car service coming," he replies. "Like I told Thresh, they're waiting for my call."

"Oh. Okay." She nods at the attendant, and Peeta hands him the ticket. The valet opens the box and locates Katniss's key. He hands it to the second attendant, who disappears to retrieve her car.

"I'm glad you came," he whispers, tracing his index finger up her bare arm. She shivers reflexively and heat coils in her belly at his suggestive touch.

"Thanks for the invite. It was really nice." _Nice?_ She scolds herself mentally. _That's the best you could do? _"I, um, had a really good time, Peeta." _Good time?_ What is wrong with her that she can't even formulate a decent sentence to thank him?

"I guess I should let the car service know I'm ready for my ride."

"I really don't mind dropping you off at your hotel, Peeta. I wish you'd let me, for all you do for me." The heat in her stomach drops lower, pooling between her legs when she tries not to think about all that she'd like him to do for her…_to her_…and her birthday wish darts through her mind as she stares at him.

"Excuse me, miss?" The valet reappears, breaking her trance, and Katniss cranes her neck, seeing no car parked in the lane behind the attendants' station. "We, uh, have a problem." He scratches at the back of his neck, clearly making a concerted effort to avoid her eyes directly. His neck jerks to the right twice, indicating that she should follow him. Peeta automatically reaches for her hand, his fingers knitting through hers. But when they reach the valet lot, Katniss lets go so that she can cover her mouth with both her hands and hold in the cry that she desperately wants to unleash.

Her brand new Infiniti has four slashed tires and some graffiti has been crudely keyed into the driver's side door—including the word 'cunt' just below the window. Her throat constricts and her knees buckle at the sight. Peeta's arms encircle her and she folds her body into his as he strokes her bare back soothingly.

"It's not even a week old, Peeta," she murmurs, burying her face in his chest, inhaling deeply and fighting off her tears. She doesn't bother to ask who could do such a thing; she knows immediately that Cato has stepped up his harassment—and just when she had assumed that he had given up on bothering her.

"We're filing a report, Katniss. Right now. He's not going to get away with terrorizing you like this." He pulls out his cell phone and the valet holds up his hand.

"I already contacted the cops, sir. They're on their way. We're required. You and your girlfriend can wait inside the hotel if you'd like."

Neither of them bothers to correct him as Peeta shakes his head. "We'll just wait here, thank you." He glances down at Katniss. "I'm calling the car service, and you're coming with me. We'll get you a room at the Hyatt. You're not going back to your apartment alone." His tone is so firm that she knows it's futile to argue, and she nods numbly.

It takes awhile for the police to arrive and for the officer to take statements from the valet and Katniss. Peeta holds her while she inspects the car herself, and she grows more incensed the longer she surveys the damage and stares at the disgusting four-letter word scratched into the gleaming charcoal paint. When the officer starts asking her questions about Cato, she spills forth the details of their breakup, her smashed cell phone and the threats, as well as the phone calls.

"And you haven't reported this until now?" he asks doubtfully. She ignores the knowing look Peeta casts in her direction.

"He hasn't really done enough to warrant your involvement, sir," she says meekly. "I did some research on stalking and—"

"You still should have reported it. Let the law decide if there's enough to press charges. Up until tonight, you're probably right that we wouldn't have been able to do anything. The stalking laws are particularly lax in this state. But this—" He gestures at her car. "—this is definitely a misdemeanor. However, Ms. Everdeen, the problem is that until we have a witness who can place him in the vicinity, and we cannot assume this Mr. Harrison is the culprit no matter how logical such an assumption might be at the moment."

Katniss sucks in a breath, and Peeta continues to rub her back gently. "So you can't do anything about my car?"

"We can file the report. And it doesn't mean that we can't still file charges," the officer adds, softening his tone. "We just need to gather some more information to see if there's enough evidence to do so. We can question Mr. Harrison on suspicion of vandalism. Try to find witnesses. Examine the surveillance tapes. If there is sufficient evidence, we can then press charges against him. Vandalism is not a crime that requires being caught in the act to prove it."

The attendant coughs. "We, ah, don't have surveillance in this lot."

Katniss's shoulders slump. "And you didn't see anything?"

"No, miss. Sorry," he apologizes again.

Peeta removes his hand from her back and clenches his fist. "How the fuck did he get past security? I mean, how negligent is this place if he was able to slash four fucking tires and key her car so easily and no one saw anything?" He turns to the valet. "I think the hotel and your supervisor are going to hear about this. Someone is going to take responsibility for this!"

Katniss gapes a little at Peeta; she's never seen him this angry, and while she's still devastated over the damage to her car, she can't help but be a little flattered he's so irate on her behalf. She sighs and thanks the officer again, who gives her a sympathetic smile and says, "We will be in touch, Miss Everdeen. That's the most I can do at the moment. I'm sorry. Have a good night."

Peeta ushers her inside and gives the concierge an earful about the woeful lack of security and how inept the valet attendants are for allowing a big burly man to slip into the lot undetected. The sputtering man apologizes profusely and offers to have Katniss's car towed to the nearest body shop. She accepts, sniffling back more tears, and hands over her keys again.

Peeta inconspicuously reaches for her hand as they exit the hotel again and find a large stretch limousine idling in the carport. Katniss stares at the vehicle, and he smiles at her.

"It's the nicest one they have. C'mon. You're coming with me. We'll get you a room at my hotel."

"Peeta, no," she protests. "I'm not—"

He raises his other hand, the one that isn't laced through hers, and presses a finger insistently against her lips. She can't suppress the tremor of desire that slithers down her spine from the heat of his touch. "I'm not taking no for an answer. You are not going back to your apartment. I will not let you be alone tonight. End of discussion."

Her heart knocks madly as the driver opens the rear door and she gathers the hem of her gown in her hands, carefully sliding into the seat that runs across the back of the limo. Peeta pauses to remove his tuxedo jacket, draping it over the seat perpendicular to where she sits and settles beside her. The driver closes the door behind Peeta. Katniss gawks at the interior of the posh car, her eyes raking over the roomy interior and the amenities stocked in the bar under the right bank of tinted windows, her eyes landing on the platinum bucket where a bottle of champagne is chilling.

"Did you want more champagne? I think you could use it."

She hesitates. "If you'll join me."

He laughs and reaches for it. "Twist my arm." He frees the foil from the neck of the bottle and aims the cork away from them, the sharp pop preceding a hiss as the champagne bubbles to the surface. He fills two glasses and hands her one, which she accepts with a smile. She sips at it, and when she brings it down from her mouth, he clinks his glass against hers.

"You okay?" he asks softly, taking a long swallow of his champagne.

"I've never been in a limousine before," she replies.

He laughs. "I meant about your car. But okay." He pauses. "Really? Like never?"

She shakes her head. "Really. I guess I've just never had a reason to be in one. I never went to the prom or anything like else that…" she trails off, mildly embarrassed. God she's so green when it comes to nice things. Peeta's probably been in countless limousines. He places his palm atop her hand as they pull away from the hotel.

"Don't worry about it. Just sit back and enjoy the ride then."

He probably intended the comment to be innocent, but the tone of his voice heats her blood. She glances down at their hands then slides her eyes up to meet his. The air between them sizzles, and he sets his glass down in the niche on the bar, then takes hers from her hand and places it beside his. He closes the small gap between them, she leans into him, and she's not sure whose lips touch the other's first.

But the first moan definitely erupts from his throat as his hands cradle her jaw, his mouth searching hers hungrily. She responds with a whimper of her own when he sucks at her lower lip and his tongue slips past her teeth, deepening the kiss. He tastes of champagne when their tongues meet and mate. As he moves one hand to cup the back of her neck, she winces a little when it catches one of the many pins holding up the intricate knot of her hair. With his other hand finding purchase on her hip, she takes the initiative to twist her body and straddle him, her gown bunching up around her knees.

They explore each other's mouths passionately for several minutes before he pulls back, his fingers stilling on the nape of her neck. "Katniss," he whispers hoarsely. She stares down at him, another curl of heat spiraling through her when she sees the wild look in those usually placid blue eyes. "Tell me to stop."

She blinks. "What?"

His index finger traces the curve of her left cheekbone, lingering on her swollen lips, and as he shifts subtly beneath her, desire whorls in her gut as she feels how hard he is. Instinctively, she rocks her hips and he swallows, clutching her hip possessively. "Tell me to stop," he repeats, his voice little more than a broken rasp.

"Why?" She swivels her pelvis again and earns another guttural groan from him. Every nerve in her body feels as if it's been zapped with electric current—the need that he spikes in her is that powerful.

"Because," he murmurs, "if you don't tell me to stop now, I don't think I'm going to be able to hold back any longer."

"And that's a bad thing?" She moans as he shifts again and she grinds down onto his erection, her clit throbbing insistently as she seeks relief for it. "We've been really good, Peeta. We've been holding back."

"But it hasn't really been that long. It's felt like forever but…" He trails off. "And I'm still technically married," he adds darkly, his eyes searching hers apprehensively.

She smiles coyly at him and trails a nail along his jawline. "Only technically."

He traps her hand, clutching it tightly. "I'm serious, Katniss. Tell me to stop and I will."

She leans down slowly and aligns her mouth to his ear. "Don't stop."

"I want you so fucking bad," he growls, angling his face to capture her lips, and her mouth moves urgently against his. His hand leaves her hip and gropes along the panel beside the door before finally managing to smack the switch that sends the privacy glass gliding upward. She grabs his palm and places it over her right breast, and his mouth smothers her escalating whimpers as he fondles it gently over the satiny fabric then kneads it more forcefully.

As his lips trail down the column of her throat and begin to suckle at the sensitive flesh between her jaw and her shoulder, she reaches down between them and gropes at the crotch of his pants, sighing softly when her hand grasps him through the material. He hisses against her neck, nipping at the skin with his teeth as he bucks into her touch.

She rises up on her knees and focuses her vision on him, wondering if her own eyes are as drugged with lust as his are. His lips part as her fingers locate the buckle of his belt and she works it undone. "Katniss," he warns, her name tumbling out of his mouth in a sibilant breath. She shakes her head and licks her lips, tugging at the button until his fingers meet hers and they fumble with it together. Once the button is free and the zipper is down, she snakes her hand through the gap in his boxers and moans appreciatively when her fingers close around his impressive cock.

Peeta stares at her, mesmerized, as she seeks his lips again. She moves backward in his lap, positioning herself to maintain her grip on him, and he leans forward in response to keep their mouths molded together when she begins to pump him more earnestly. His hands clutch at her back, and she feels herself getting wetter with each ragged groan he releases.

"Katniss, please," he pants, "I need you. I need to be inside you. Now." His desperate tone floods her thighs with more damp heat, and she nods numbly, shifting onto her knees once more and hitching up her dress as she struggles to drag the pale orange thong down her legs. Peeta's hand covers hers, and he tosses the tiny panties to the floor. He then slips his hand under her gown again, and she cries out as his fingers glide through her slick folds. He nips at her earlobe, tugging it between his teeth, and the heat of his breath raises gooseflesh all over her arms and neck. "Fuck, you're so wet." She grabs his cock insistently, rubbing it against her clit. He pulls at the skin beneath her ear, laving it with his tongue, but then he stops abruptly. "Wait." He deflates. "Shit. I don't have anything on me."

"It's fine. I promise, you're fine." She's been on birth control since college. And she's always been safe and used a condom too, yet she finds can't deny Peeta—or herself—this any longer, and the thought of him being inside her with no barriers somehow excites her more. She rotates her hips above him, the tip of his cock barely pressing into her.

He sucks in a breath as he plants his hands on her hips, thrusting up as she sinks down onto him, easing herself lower as she stretches to accommodate him. It's been a long time since she slept with anyone, and Peeta feels huge by comparison. As he fills her, there's an initial discomfort that quickly fades, replaced by an intense pleasure as he begins to guide her up and down on his shaft. "Holy shit. You feel so good. _So_ fucking good."

She fights to keep her eyes open as she gazes down at him, and he stares back adoringly. His eyes are glassy under hooded lids before they slip closed and his head lolls back against the seat. His breathing has become even shallower, and she impulsively reaches to the collar of his shirt and her fingers grasp the edges of his bow tie, tugging them so the knot unravels and she can pull it from the shirt collar. She manages to undo the top button of the dress shirt, pressing her lips to his Adam's apple. He continues to jut his pelvis up, his rhythmic thrusts matching each revolution of her hips. When he opens his eyes again, she slants her mouth over his and kisses him ravenously. She suckles his tongue, drawing it into her mouth and his hands seize at her sides, encouraging her to move faster. "You're fucking amazing...fuck, I'm sorry this isn't going to last long."

She feels her stomach tightening with the familiar signs of her own impending orgasm. Peeta is driving into her at just the right angle for the hood of his cock to catch the cleft of her clit. She can feel every inch of him, and it's intoxicating. Maybe it's partially because it's been so long since she's had sex, but he has her spiraling towards completion quicker than usual as well. When his hand fumbles between them to touch her, she grabs it and shakes her head.

"Don't need to. You're…ah…I'm…almost there too." She tries to choke out the words between breaths. She leans down and rests her forehead against his, locking her eyes on his before kissing him.

"Do you even know how sexy you are?" he gasps out. She keens softly as the pleasure finally becomes too much and her orgasm rips through her; her walls clenching around him causes his thrusts to become erratic. "Katniss…fuck…I…I can't…I'm gonna come," he warns just before he erupts inside her.

She stays motionless against him, euphoric and dazed until she feels him begin to soften. A few moments later, he pulls out and eases her off his lap, his hand cradling her back as he brushes away a few wisps of her hair. "Finally," he murmurs. "That was incredible," and she nods, unable to properly catch her breath and find her voice to answer. He slumps back against the seat, taking her with him as his thumb draws circles over her palm, and he's silent for several moments. Then he clears his throat. "I'm, ah, sorry."

She sits back and gapes at him. "For what?" she asks, scanning the floor for her panties. She grabs them and lifts her ass off the seat, moving to shimmy them up her legs but then decides against it, instead using the scrap of orange lace to swipe at the semen that has run down her thighs. Frowning at the soiled underwear, she wads up the thong and shoves it into her clutch. She spies his discarded bow tie on the floor and grabs it too.

"That was hardly the way I wanted to be with you for the first time. And trust me, I've thought about it—a lot. In fact, it's all I've thought about lately." He tucks himself back into his pants and refastens his belt.

She twists her mouth and adjusts the top of her dress. "Me too," she confesses.

"I haven't even taken you out on a date yet," he says quietly.

"This evening was pretty close to a first date. And you made me lunch yesterday." She smiles. "We're not teenagers, Peeta. We didn't need some stereotypical scene out of a movie or anything. So don't you dare apologize. We both wanted it, and it _was_ incredible. You're incredible." She glances down at their hands, entwined together and draws her bottom lip between her teeth. "This changes things," she says quietly.

"It does," he agrees, leaning over and kissing a trail up her neck. He gestures towards the window. "I guess it's just as well that was fast and furious because we're here already."

She avoids eye contact with the limo driver when he opens the door for them, and she winces at the thought that they've left the back of the car smelling like sex, but she's pretty sure the man drew his own conclusions when Peeta put up the privacy shield. After Peeta tips the driver, he tangles their fingers together and presses his lips into the crook of her neck again. A pleasant tingle reverberates through her and she squeezes his hand.

"I'm glad you listened to me. I didn't want you by yourself in your apartment tonight. Not after what Cato did," he says as he pushes the revolving door and motions for her to go first. She slips between the large panes of glass and steps into the opulent hotel lobby. He follows and wraps his arms around her waist.

"You didn't really give me a choice," she reminds him.

"True." His blue eyes sparkle impishly and he spins her around, kissing her again. "But I'll give you one now."

"Oh?"

He nods. "Forget getting your own room. Come up to mine," he murmurs between kisses. "Spend the night with me."

* * *

_**A/N-**There's plenty of Everlark ahead in Chapter 16, so I hope their first time met expectations even if it was fast and furious. That's how I envisioned their UST exploding anyhow. _

_Thanks to ILoveRynMar, Streetlightlove and Pookieh (especially for holding my hand while I typed that c-word that, to paraphrase Mark Wahlberg in Ted, is like an electric knife and I hate using it) for their prereading and encouragement with this chapter. For what it's worth, I did consult my RL cop friend about misdemeanors and vandalism, but again, since Panem is a fictional state, any liberties taken with real law enforcement is on me and my creative license. _

_You have **three** more days to donate to Fandom4LLS and receive a gift of fic from some of the most amazing authors in this fandom, as well as from Harry Potter and Twilight if they're your thing. Go to fandom4lls dot blogspot dot com and follow the directions for submitting the evidence of your donation to the lovely ladies who maintain the collection. _

_Finally if you aren't following **Everlart** on tumblr, what are you waiting for? This amazing lady has captured some of the best moments of Everlark from a host of fanfics already and there is beautiful new art all the time. _

_Thanks for reading and continuing to show love for this story. ~Court (P.S. yes I am making progress on One by One)_


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